ON WRITING

Sometimes I stand           just

there. The great passion

of my life looks                             exactly

like the tide receding,                      just

like I am standing                             still, just

like I am not moving,                        and the water

around me filling up the      two holes made by                     my    two    feet.

I think what magnificence it is this longing for the                  waves   that    soon

will                                                                         come rushing               toward me.

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