Summer
In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:
57 Summer Heavy seabirds fly low. The evening sun, a sunken skiff, means less to them than the fish, the fishermen who brace themselves against the pull of the dim waters. If I were younger, I would turn to Masha, convince her of the ocean’s old deaths. Of life’s brief island. If older, I might worry divinity. But I am neither. We never are. ...
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