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Coral Bay


When I began to write, I didn't know
how quickly it would make me very rich,
how I would buy an island, how I'd fly
there fifteen times a day, how waves would place

old bottles at my feet, how narwhals from
those waves would eat straight from my hand, how my
estate would stretch to one-fifth of the world,
how I would bring home shells instead of pay,

and in the morning I'd discover precious
stones in the sheets, but I'd be just the same.
My pockets would be full of holes. I'd sit
with you as always at the table while

right there my women, children, livestock, land
would dance, rise in the air, then fall again.


Tomasz Růzycki

A Public Space

Issue 7 - 2008


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