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from the January 2004 issue: The Balkans

The Island You and I

living on an island
far from cities with traffic lights and people.Outside we hear the rustlings
of a bed of reeds
where the wind with its toothless mouth blows
luring in tides.A boat is moored on the shore
a forlorn boat
rotting in the rain.It seems
we'll never be able to use it
to sail home.

January 2004
The Balkans
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