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:

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