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S U I C I D E S Ink blot, sperm on a slide, asquirm of minnows from the helicopter's view, the whales have beached. All day the volunteers have poked and prodded, but they will not turn back. Behind them their salty element foams and rushes: how often they sounded the dark layers, past the lacy skeletons of coral, the squid preparinghis black cloak for a getaway—the ease of gliding, motion in the midst of motion, through water! the pull of water as they stored breath and dove again and again, looking for bottom, down to where fish blossom among the sponges and fossils, where the plants are meateating and sexual, where the ocean opens to cold drafts that clamp an iron vise against the skull. Graceful in water, they labor now toward palmetto and tufted hillocks, the hot sun bleaching and drying out. Their fins dig into something solid, the broad flukes spade, then anchor in the sand. 23 ...

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