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Sandpipers
Ten miles of flat land along the sea.
Sandland where the salt water kills the
sweet potatoes.
Homes for sandpipers — the script of their
feet is on the sea shingles — they write
in the morning, it is gone at noon — they
write at noon, it is gone at night.
Pity the land, the sea, the ten mile flats,
pity anything but the sandpiper's wire
legs and feet.