but to walk among the windswept pines
to pause before the swelling of wave after wave
sea washing over each solemn stone
to lose yourself in hair you shall never caress
each petal of crocus
surrenders its purple
each rose-colored tulip—
lost before summer
you come home to the shore
a familiar odor of death in the breeze
you come home but never arrive
you are always departing—
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