Mounting the madwoman
is a special privilege
reserved for those willing
to roll bones over souls
and spend endless sober smiles
walking through skullfog
dampened but undamned
slowly up hills and slowly down.

She laughs and shivers
crouched nude on a plastic bucket
slapping her buttocks and
nodding at the swells of solastalgia
that rhythmically wet the beach
around the groyne.