the glancing blows that strike deep

i speak of my hermitage for months on end
he speaks of himself as hermit

why would either brave the waters
let alone seek any form of tribe
right as usual
in that stark painful way

perhaps to glance across
the surface and submerged of other
seeing their beauty and wounds
but the primitive intimacy
of belonging with another

there were no sharks
only the glancing blows
that strike deep
cutting rivers of red
seeping out across
the barren plains of
back turned could have beens


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