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Three Nights at Sea

westward setting sun rising moon and no green flash

on the horizon

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though I watched for it while the sky's dome

divided itself into shades of blue and black

and the day's last flight from Boston

left a trail overhead

next night I slept on deck and then

on watch there was only one long freighter

to ring the bell about;

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constellations blew by,

probably Cassiopeia and the Seven Sisters

but I knew them by different names

the third night out

we divvyed up the stars like colored beads,

taking pains to leave enough

for lovers on the shore;

the shooting stars were the most precious -

we only owned them for a second

and each night I was glad to know

that the moon I saw was the moon you saw

on another continent, only an hour before

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