The music is questionable: the question is immaterial
Over the roar of the sea: there is only the occasional gull.
A raw squawk breaks time: I have forgotten some memory
That frightens me: it is possible to erase anything, then.
Without any guidepost: I walk up and down the strand
Dividing up all the debris: some flotsam and some jetsam.
Time recedes all around me: soon it rushes back to my feet
Though: this certain ebb and flow dissolves the footprints.
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