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De La Warr Pavilion, Bexhill-on-Sea

I do not know which to prefer



the light windy blue of morning



or the white-out of sea mist,



 



the inflection of shadow at dusk



or the spill of light from the pavilion windows



blurring the dark of the vacant shore.



 



Sea becomes tin, iron,



a bale of lilac silk ruffled



by afternoon wind



 



as weather mutates, shifts like a mood,



ectoplasmic fog turning to wide



clear sky.



 



A film of rain, a white gull,



a wet dog; everything



flux and shift



 



a formation and refiguring



between sea, sky



and deck-chaired strand



 



where light is hazy,



chromatic, mutable



here on the edge of this watery world.

 
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