I dwell far from the ocean,
locked in by sprawling tracts
without the slightest motion
and only stagnant facts.
I dream of sea salt sprays
in acrid prairie lanes,
lifted by September haze
never bringing fragrant rains.
I hope to hear gulls shriek
as they tumble overhead
and search out when they leak-
it sinks as fast as lead.
I watch for other ships
where blue ends at the white
and day dips into night
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