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Ocean Beach, San Fransisco. 

I spoke to the sapphire hues And that little tint of amber, listened 

To the golden streaks of dawn. 
What else is there but a crumbling wall

No blood, no scars, just the dusty screams

Of surf and stone clashing and dividing
Sending sparks of jagged mist 

Sandy wind whipping wisps of 

Salt, scrubbing away shadows 
Lightness follows. 

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