Zywa
The slow time
In bed, in the dark
below the dyke I hear
the hum of the river
vessels curve heavily
loaded in the bend
of the slow time
where we never venture, knowing
what happened to that boy
whom nobody knows anymore
where we swim in summer
a few strokes to
and fro in the bay
build lookouts
and are bored
with the creep of
the little waves
the long barges
the slow time
peering
at new cars or other
cargo on deck
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