Tuesday, July 5, 2016

She All But Thought

She’d wrapped herself adaptively
into, around and partly through
a large outcrop of gray sea rock

lodged just offshore – Nature’s version
of the work, perhaps, of Henry Moore.
She knew as much as any of us

what the living had to do on Earth:
proceed from birth to study objects
and their circumstances fully

and strategically enough to make up
certain-seeming stuff that you could say
you knew, but didn’t. She liked to think

she had been bidden by and to this
half-submerged and private promontory –
sea-beleaguered yet somehow still

eager to relate its story – eroded
and elated by the water. She all
but thought she was its daughter.


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