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Waves

I have swum too far
out of my depth
and the sun has gone;
 
the hung weight of my legs
a plumb-line,
my fingers raw, my arms lead;
 
the currents pull like weed
and I am very tired
and cold, and moving out to sea.
 
The beach is still bright.
The children I never had
run to the edge
 
and back to their beautiful mother
who smiles at them, looks up
from her magazine, and waves.

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