I cannot show you
this shore, these breakers thrashing
the sandy chaos,
roiling far more than
buried life can bear for long,
the rocks upthrust, sharp,
with small damp caverns
and craters where wild things grow.
The edge of the world
is damp and salty,
like dilute new blood, pale light
like early morning.
July 7, 2011 9:30 AM
that is a wonderfully sexy poem, in the best sense of the phrase. "pale light like early morning" is powerful, and perfect.
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