November 2

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There is an unseen tide
at play here, just audible
when the conversation
lulls. At times our words
are large and difficult
to hold, so like wet stones
we let them fall where
they will. At this time of year,
everything is damp, laced
or lapped, saturated
or submerged, but without
a tide-table I’m left unsure:
this water will go out or will
follow us home, or will do
something else, that much
is clear, that much I know.


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