Is it desire to
swim
again in uterine
seas?
Or, vestigial
memories
of when we were
fish?
We sit on the beach
faces turned toward
the waves
and dream.
As much as we seek
its warmth,
the sun is not our
friend.
Only the waters
embrace and soothe.
Amongst the waves,
I hear mothers cry.
I hear mothers cry.
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