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Venice Daphne Running Backwards
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Venice Daphne Running Backwards Lyn Lifshin the way the sandpiper runs as close to the water and then knows, pulls back, but not before he's dug into sea grass. I'm walking out of branches, wood, Daphne run backwards, my own breakwater this time. Blue shells, sun Cupped in the arm of some One who doesn't own Or want to own me. The leaves he pulls from My skin is stained with the verbs of someone who didn't see what she could. salt air chews them. we dream of Nantucket, wine in a grey wood someday. You know I never wanted a man just for myself but didn't know that. Gulls. Old women unbutton black coats, fell the light, dreams moving in their throats like birds. They are willow roots hanging on under the sand, pushing deep. 81 82LYN LIFSHIN In this light, if they were to unloosen a few pins diey would grow into dieir hair, birds blown in the sun toward cities rarely found on maps. ...