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Blue of the Marsh

by

Meg Smith

You have made this whole
with your dark eyes
over the deep;
each wave a riddle
merging at the tips of reeds,
golden in the channels.
It's where we walk
and give of your hours;
I will keep them even
when in these walls on earth,
you are parted from salt,
and even from air.
Only the sea-grass and I
keep the elements.

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