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Misunderstanding

I don’t regret walking 

Wide eyed

Into your walls.

I don’t pretend

I didn’t see them.

I don’t believe I was able 

To believe

What you told me

When our hands were having another kind of conversation,

But I knew that it was true

For you.

Like telling the ocean:

“I have edges that do not move,

That do not flow or spray or rage.

They just stay silently solid.

There are places that you cannot go.”

The ocean shimmers and nods and swirls around itself,

And your shoulders,

And between your fingers and amongst your hair,

Trying to imagine how that is.

I ain’t sorry.

For that or for this.

Know that the sting of salt water

Is testament to the healing it brings.

The ocean loves the shore

To the beat of the moon,

And their dancing 

Makes the sharp things soft,

And the solid resistance of the shore 

Gives the ocean occasion to feel

Her own force

And withdraw.

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