The day after

The day after the night before
up and out, fresh sea breezes,
ferry to the gardens, walks
on the winding paths through
the trees

tired legs and a head that
wouldn't form words - out
of the way of houses and
cars we were in the August
bloom of late summer and
exotic foliage

near water, a relief and a
binding-up, frequent seats,
apple orchard for cider-making
the King Harry Ferry and its chain

my cup never seems to run
over, half-empty it remains -
later out on the water
the wind was strong
against my night of pain.

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