30th April 1671

And morning wakes me with churchbells in faraway places and lonely starfish which slumber at my feet and I know that I am home, these wasted threads of life recall longings for the person I have been and the strangest of times that I have lived through and I can see the paths of mourning which bring me to the shore, I gather lobsters as friends and awkward insects which carry wine and candles to lay me to my rest. I am confused and ready to die.

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