other people

So recently on the secluded beach we went, walking our eighth anniversary together; walking southward, spiritually hand in hand, and over rocks and logs; then up the high path to the small promontory, where could be seen

for miles

great rocks and cliffs.

What a vast breaking

of waves was below us. It was hard to be heard,

or to hear each others voices. I laughed.

We stretched on the matted grass. You were

silent as usual.

Eight years together. Well, not so unusual: others love longer, or love and separate, or love too much and hate because of loving,

or die, or move away, or suffocate

the one they cherish.-Yes, the tales are endless.

I suppose because we are two men,

and not in Athens, not in the ancient time,

that we must proceed with caution: it is best.

2.2.

Willis Eberman

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