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August 3, 2012
REMEMBER THE DAY we met?

— Yes.

At Río Grande de Arecibo.

— I remember.

You were swimming. So beautiful. So lithe.

— You were so handsome in your uniform. A proper Navy man. And you waded right in.

To be with you? I jumped.

— We’re still on that river, aren’t we?

Yes. Though we sail far, we’re always home; though the Sun urges us on, she never leaves us. She sits siddhasana, radiating oneness, completion.

— You were always the poet.

As I get older.

— I’ll check the shielding.

Be careful. Nine’s wobbly.

— I will.

I love you.

— My sweet, serious poet. Yes.