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—45 My Father by the Sea, Supposedly Telemachus, waiting For me and missing fathers, halfmoon light tarnishes night with too much to be seen, discarded carcasses of mollusks seagulls have left litter the beach. We walked this shore in European gray ten years ago or more (December pearled the Adriatic), war galleys rolled away on wheels of salt and left their white foam spokes to shatter on black rocks, damp gravel that we made our path. My father said, Our love can be like that, the moon exerting its kinetic gentle pull on saltwater and on strangers passing in a light like ocean mist, those boats still moving somewhere, long out of sight by now. shepherd text-2.indd 45 11/22/10 2:07 PM ...

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