The dot
bobbing in binoculars was
it was
and they
flung the ready red canoe, flew from their life-
guard overview—
Where in this wound-up crowd
alarmed
time running out
was my father
•
Because he was mine
Because his skin smelled like he smelled
Because he opened his eyes
and flat on the sand his chest in seashore ripples
heaved
Because he was mine
I licked salt off his face
Published in Salamander
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