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About This Poem
walking
We walked the marsh,
our feet finding grassy clumps,
glad to be in boots, dry-footed
with the way the water
was rushing through,
the way love spans
its islands,
frothing and
sets root,
the way
no one
escapes
the hearts' progress,
its minuet,
love's arc,
At eighty beats per minute
omnivorous
in the night.
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