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Sally Bliumis-Dunn – Ⅴ






Not loneliness pressing


the shores of your skin,


or the sad skreeking


of something like gulls.




It is different inside you.


Lighter, more like sky.




Now that you’re


with him, you come


to the woods. No, more often


you  go to the ocean to find it




beneath your gliding hull –




clear globes of fish eggs, silver flash


of mackerel, even the occasional


horseshoe crab washed up


on the shore.




And you, always


watching, gratefully listening –




tongues of ropes like muted bells


clanging on the masts,


the breath of the bodiless wind,




and all walls down, here


on the generous blue you give


to each other.