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An exhausted night-swimmer, homebound,
drips a trail of lake down the county highway’s
shoulder. He’s only seen by gas truck drivers,
and a deputy on watch for greater weirdness.
The one-player game: swim out
until return’s a major effort. This builds muscle,
lung power, it keeps the life-wish strong as hell.
This is how to love the shore again, the shore
which wants the night-swimmer back,
the halflife of memory
pretty brief there in the tidal wash.
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