Tangled

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It’s a word there , at the edge of my mind

I feel it there just tangled, but cannot seem to find

what exact word it is.

I have heard it , I know, for sure.

It calls to me, from some forgotten shore

to speak it.

In the time of dreaming it comes , almost foaming,

it drifts in  seaweed misty, gloaming,

pulled away with the tide.

Perhaps the selkies know it,

and  one day they will show it ,

scrawled on the sea-glass floor.

 

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