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Epiphany

written by: Mario William Vitale

It clings to the cliffed shore,

to the wintered face of the thistle path,

to the fingers of the old man's glove

as he waves his memory homeward

In that breath between come and go

she moves up from the bay;

gold turns her stride,

the line of her dress,

the soft sea pulling at her feet

When he reaches out

and the frail birds fly

and the sun and the sky

have married deep into the sea, it clings

Even as his shadow threads retreat,

it clings, even now as it dissolves to mist