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POEM: Sitting

I feel the swell,

but can’t see the boat.

Let alone know whether

it contains passengers.

It’s night.

The sea is dark,

and the most I can hope for

is a glint against the hull.

If I look to where the glint was,

She’s gone.

Tune to the

rise and fall

of the swell.

 

[National Poetry Month: Poem #17]


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