by Ru Freeman
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From the bottom of the closer ocean
I scrape sand into a plastic bottle.
I don’t know the color of the waves that crash over my head
I don’t know the color of the waves that crash over my head
When I go under
I only feel that here, only here, in this one place,
A small rise that can be accessed by braving a sudden deep,
The sand is like water
A small rise that can be accessed by braving a sudden deep,
The sand is like water