There'll come an uphill struggle
 to leave; the salty ozone thinning
as crooked houses yield to the familiar
regimented highway.

We had travelled to sea-level quite certain
the sands always welcome the waves
two sides of a sail billow inseperably 
and taut kite-strings pull on the stars for fun.

When enjoined to view the edge of the world 
we find it veiled by white mist;  an unwritten page 
where sea meets sky modestly, out of sight.
Suddenly runner and dog, no lead, jog by.
One-legged gulls know where they're safe,
where to float effortlessly into fog.