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Salt
A warm gulf breeze
floated in over the pavestones
behind the Cà d'Zan,
stirring quiet palm fronds and
waking birds languid
in cascading banyan vines.
We stood hand in hand
in the shadow of luxury,
you and I, nothing to our names
but a half-pack of cigarettes,
beer money for the beach,
passes to the museum,
and a dream of old age:
wrinkled eyes and scraggled fingers
still locked together,
somewhere a child or two
not calling on our birthdays,
and a small place by the water.
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