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For a Girl with White Gold Hair
Who Left Only Her Shirt on a Stuffed Chair
part III

The red streaks down the centers
Of young sandspurs did not speak.
The sand in bottom of the upturned buttercup shell
Did not speak.
The algae around the whelk eggcases edges
Was silent.
The water spurted from the clam,
Water spurted from the oyster
Said nothing.
 
All talked to us
When we walked
Hand in hand
Down the shoreline.