remember this i whisper
gazing at green leaves

drenched in the light
of August’s last morning

the way I remember sailboats
rocking at anchor

a row of multicoloured beach huts
against the north Atlantic

the eerie pre-dawn cries
of Manx shearwaters
returning to their cliffs

the smell of a well-
loved pub

sitting across the table
from a life partner

commit this too
to memory and then

remember winter’s promise
of a ladder to the moon

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