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Boat (v. 2.0)

When I am old
I should like to sit
on the top of the water
in a boat I sand and paint
each year –
myself.

I can hear the Sea
call to me, “Come.
Sit. Stare. Come.”

A fleck, a crumb
can only fall to the
surface for a second.
It is taken down on
the curl of a wave.

She is hungry - the Sea.
She is hungry for me.

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