Eleven
I walk on sand and think to join the gulls. We'll seek a route across waves, leaving behind so many troubles.
The dory-boatmen launch through surf, eyes picking their way through rocks ahead.
A lone walker on the sand watches gulls and imagines joining them—finding a way across the waves and leaving behind “so many troubles.” That wish feels quiet and open, not desperate; it is the thought of someone who wants to trade a heavy life for a freer one.
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