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  • Carly Feinman

Day 46- 11.1.20

Water can’t lie

It’s scrumptious, isn’t it.

The way the bay bends with the breeze

like an airborne golf ball;

curving and undulating with

the arrogance and je ne sais quoi

of an aloof Parisian.

It’s curious, too, watching the ripples

will themselves forward, extending still

beyond the shore’s sight

to that distant theory: the open sea.

Walking along the bay, I find myself moved

to tears, which isn’t rare these days, and still

these tears are different somehow—

as if the beauty contained in this blue pool

might actually mean something similar to hope

even on a Sunday,

even in times like these.

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