the stop-sign pulsates
with the evening
gradiants

it is
falling from grace
in the small
community
of whalers

it says:

the salt air
has encrusted
my eyelids
and
each time i bat them
in sleep
(or expressions
of humility)
they grow
heavier

I have come to accept
the salt as my
gentle ally
-softly guiding me
towards
the
/original
/state