This is a short poem that I wrote whilst building a large fire-sculpture for the Wintertide Festival in Hertlepool in November 2023. We were staying in an Inn of the same name on the Headlands near to the sight of the gun battery and the location of a temporary lighthouse that stood on the moors from 1915 and until a new one was built in 1927. I had caught a flu bug the day before and was in a semi-halucinatory state, reflecting on the singularity of that moment, and of life in general.

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