Could you have known, then,
That first time we sailed out of the lagoon
As night fell, and the constellations began to paddle about?
“Every book is an ocean,” you said,
“every page a tide.”
“Is a library the world, then?” I said,
(For at that age I, too, could already swim.)
“One of many,” you said, eyes fixed upon my face,
“and all of them yours to find.”
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