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By Amanda Auchter

I think of us
by some dolor sea, watching

the breakwater tug against
its own resistance,

churn up sharks and sea grass.

I think of us
here, between the dunes

erasing our hours by moonlight,
our throats full of salt.

I think us
standing in front of a car,

headlights breaking our bodies

into angular stalks of shadow

and sand,

the grains stuck against the night.

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Document last modified on: 09/25/2005

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