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July 5, 2008

She tells me how it lives, quick and rich, between tides;
how its world shifts in swirls and sanded patterns on each waking.

How it scurries to take all that’s offered by each new land
exposed on the moon’s whim, washed in the sea’s run.

How it waits out high tides in a bubble bound with silk,
how each barnacle only has room for one.

by Angela France

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