Culled from February: the look back
Accident: a sapling climbs out of earth by happenstance
at the sea cliff,
seizing its pale apportionment of sun, its fog moisture,
to become root
and rivering of a dream I’d not until now recalled. Its branches
are seawind’s salts. Reaching my face,
their one white purpose.
Which is to say I finally ascend this last cliff and look
back, due east,
opposite of sunset and feel the ‘looking back’ as elastic, reeling
out from the accident of my sudden turn, a thin, long
flash of dove-colored undertow.
Printed from Cerise Press: http://www.cerisepress.com
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