maybe the sea is
of course it’s in the movement
the incessant rounding
the pushing in and across
filling the bay with sunlight
and the seagulls’ lowering
delineating the wind’s tenure
the children’s meandering talk
shrieking in the fairness of a blue sky
as deep as the fullness of saying
high tide of this one and only
tomorrow the moon
will pull a fast one
then look out
big trouble
run
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