She swam under a cormorant sky
willing it to rain to quench somewhat the
heat that drew her here from a
brutal winter and early widowhood but had
oppressed her since, like the
sweaty weight of an invisible body
stirring her long-dead loins into
cruel longing, arousal, the blush of
shame she felt as she dog-paddled towards
Africa where the men lying on the beach looked like
dark driftwood on which she knew she would
end up impaled.
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