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Thursday, May 13, 1999

From My Notebook. . .

Beach Combing

Running away to forever
The blue arc of the sea
Heaves with premonition
And possibilities

Discharging energies and
Secret things with blasé
Routine, twisted strands
Polished smooth, gnarled and
Grooved, smitten by a
Salty bite

Treasure seekers moving,
Futures found, worn and,
Weathered, half buried,
Scooped up, borne away
To somewhere else

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