How can you swim in the ocean with open wounds?
There is no pool of blood
(it’s washed too thin too see),
but you bleed -- you must.
All the rocks cut:
All the sand gouges.
Yet you smile while salt explodes pain.
How can you pour your veins
into an ungrateful body which doesn’t change?
For all your warm, red blood,
It remains a cold blue.
Its white-white froth
Won’t even tint pink.
How can you be so human yet so happy?
 
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