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Grays MAG
September 15, 2017
I wash up on your pebble beaches every day,
the waves from your silver lake nipping my toes.
your marina gray skies warm me sweetly,
but the timber wolf’s howl in the distance is troubling.
I want to find your hearthstone,
in the center of your being,
and tie myself there with strands of gunmetal,
hoping when I write my name in dark graphite,
I won’t have to leave.
© Steve S., Marblehead, MA
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