riding round the swell-pressed island
there's a wind drying out your lungs
and a rain that soaks your every inch
without forgetting the barest part of you
but these showers often hold off just long enough
so when you ride up from L'Eree
there's also a distant sun kissed peak
and in the same low light you corner Delancey
to find a dead field lit up with golden stalks
and up the hill back home
there's this like lifelong exhaustion
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