her heart beat labyrinth-like
for gone men whose notebooks of America
narrowed across the flirting distance
like things growing among grass
worked by tourists’ eyes
scrounging through the city’s shadow
on and on she roamed
until the ocean was nothing new
discarding small possessions
only foreigners tried to understand
more turquoise than true
in the end her rusted eyes closed in on just one man
her unhinged breezes piled up in his sun
during her malnourished days she longed to find his room
its waters near to morning sky
rising gold and exiled
above the hours of her dull and wasted life
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