So why do we insistHe has vanished, that death ran off with ourEverything worth having? Why not that he wasSwimming only through this life--his slow,Graceful crawl, shoulders rippling,Legs slicing away at the waves, glidingFurther into what life itself denies?He is only gone so far as we can tell. ThoughWhen I try, I see the white cloud of his hairIn the distance like an eternity.
-Tracy K. Smith
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