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Spell Breaking
That is soon over, others come in view: Old man in street clothes down for a beach walk, Three women heading back absorbed in talk, A guy surf-fishing, the odd runner or two. And no more pelicans: gulls now skreak and mew, I scare a willet that flies to a safe rock Kerlear-ing his hurt feelings, a godwit flock Reflects in the shine they poke their long bills through. And here’s my old friend Herb, facing the sea, Musing, quite motionless, holding, curiously, A folded newspaper level with his waist: Day-offering to sea and sundown, he the priest. I can’t not greet him though the spell will break, He jogs on in with me for old and new times’ sake.
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