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The Bare Winter Beach
No kites, no frisbees. No baking half the day Beside her friend, a radio in between. No babies. Not a six-pack to be seen, Even gulls are scarce (no garbage). Far away Is the big brown belly July puts on display. — Two lovers, and one walker, dark and lean, And two runners, are strung out on the clean Smooth beach ahead, with the light a misty gray Coming from nowhere and everywhere alike. A good place for a passion to be worked out Or up. Near here last night my young friend Mike Whose wife left him and took their child, did not See me run by, his eyes so fixed on a pair Of beauties running by with streaming hair (Eyes that have been in training on Vermeer).
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