The sky is dark and empty, no gulls. No foot steps wasted in the Brooklyn night. September asks my business here. When I tell her, "I want to watch the sand smooth out with no human footprints," she asks me, "But won't you miss that?" I probably will, but at least there will probably be some light when I land in the ferry slip on Governor's Island, the cool autumn waves no deeper than the end of my life.
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