When We Got to the Edge of the Ocean

we tasted it.  Two kids from the middle
of Canada and the water that tastes
like salt, water that tastes like ocean
when we thought it would taste like tears.
We’d spent our lives searching
for sea and finding parking
lots instead, gulls chewing up garbage
on the parched pavements of our childhood,
and the way even the sky looked wet
when we finally made it to water.
One sheet of endlessness
on top of another sheet of endlessness,
we looked at the sky and waited for it
to swallow us.  And waited for it
to spit us out.  And waited to turn
to sea glass with our edges turned flat.

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