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Colleague with a Notebook
Beach wide and flat. I run, dully, on a sheet Of neutral-colored light, slipping along In the wet is a blurry quarter moon, a tongue Of water pushes in quietly over the wet, Quick-sliding, low-hissing, its tip of foamy white Entering up the sand. Then I’m among The seal brown, seal high rocks — old seals and young Seaward they slant, alertly — exposed of late By the winter tides … slowly, on the way back, Darkness coming, the horizon turns a bright, Deep orange-red, the exact color of the throat Of a cutthroat trout! Pass a man writing a note (His camera’s set up) and look back — beach black Where he stands, crossed with great slashes of light.
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