I carried my whole Dad across the Eel. Everyone in her Cal Extension Existentialism class Had brushes with death. Sixteen, driving outside Vincennes, her car hit rock, rolled, Spilled her into a flood, where she tried (which side Was closer?) swimming to safety. Her existentialism saved her. Linda’s blue eyes are the closest cloud to land. She’s ready to float on floes, in snow. You need a beach towel for real meaning. So, go get. Linda never looks back, even at the end of the year. In life’s floating world, Over the tide of time, Her purpose doesn’t change. We know We exist because we catch a stranger looking us over In our swimsuit. Sidestroke always feels You can talk to someone alongside, Even across the whole fetch. If to exist is to swim, is to swim to exist? But of course. Long lanes stretch our explanation. Literary agent — yes, for a poet That is absurd, my friend. Part of the meaning of Linda Is what Linda means to me. Volume 8 No 1 - Page 43
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