Salt-Water of Me

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All dreams, all prayers have prescribed cycles:

Cycles to complete, before lovers meet,

Before the unreal merges into the very real,

Before these notions can turn concrete.

 

Let’s settle in a make-shift home one day:

There is no end to this sobbing, as I see;

And if I choose to stay where I am and to feel,

I may drown in a flood of the

salt-water of me!

 

As they sing their bird-song, all the while,

In silence you plur, as if in exile.

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