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A gypsy lives within my soul
the only time we feel we’re whole
the only time we feel like me
is when we’re standing by the sea
where foamy tides work their allure
like an elixir – then I demur
and leave my home
and take her hand
and walk with her
across the sand.
We feel the surf drum ancient themes
I have only felt in dreams
I gaze into that siren’s maw
and sway in rhythm with the raw
timbre of her husky breath
that sea weeds hearts toward welcome death
my eyes drink in
the mystic potion
the endless gray
pacific ocean.
The gypsy wanders down the shore
out the boardwalk, past a door
that beckons her, come in! take part!
dance with us! but she’s lost heart
she knows that she would rather be
here, out standing by the sea
where rhyme and reason
intertwine
on floating kelp
in salty brine.
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