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CXII
Cezanne's Le Bay from l'Estaque
JUST LIKE THE BIRD THAT RUNS ALONG
THE TOO DESERTED SANDS OF TIME
& SELDOM STOPS TO SING ITS SONG
TRACED INTO PATTERS LIKE A RIME

Along the beaches of his Day

walks Man (ever failing to understand

why, flawed, waves wash away

his footsteps) perfect on the sand!
Seurat's Une Baignade

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