where the birds play with you, there
where the wild wind scatters you
in the scrolling surf,
on my knees, sinking into sand
swallowed inch by inch by
these excited waves, so excessive
their excitement that I fear
I might join you right then and there
the way they heave and pull on me,
blowing and towing.
But life is so beguiling I hold on,
dear one, I hold on
to my own self
and turn my back on those swells,
on you.
Forgive me, my love; I will hand over
to death only one precious hour
at a time.
.
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