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Ward Kelley
Circumference
Bobbing in a frigid sea, heads and heads,
brief survivors of a shipwreck, some up,
some underneath, we reach for contact,
the bluish skin of our hands stretched
to its limit, and still the cold suffocates
more and more of our dear body's heat.
Are we dead yet? How does one tell?
Perhaps the only confirmation of life,
or death, is profound exclamation, for
if you are not yet dead then you are
obligated to discover a better way to
roar at your fellow survivors . . .
and if you are not yet alive . . .
so too are you obligated to appeal
to your fellow astounded travelers.
And then, some few of us odd journeyers
forget to which group we should adhere,
and make sound from living ear to dead ear . . .
and yet I find no fear.
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