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          By Robert James Berry

          I can make a language out of kelp
          the due north of a broken bottle

          but these symbols are hard to read
          and don't disturb the imagination
          when the bluffs make forbidding masks

          or a gull feasts vocally on a
          crab's broken back.

          Here the night is sudden;
          a light makes a compass point

          then flicks out

          leaving me to muse the tide
          at my feet, the grainy
          blackness you can

          push fingers into. The
          seamonstered gulf.

          And out there beyond the offing
          are other islands

          where it grows visceral in sunset
          like a great bloodletting

          and the dusk longs for war.

          © Copyright 2004, Robert James Berry, All Rights Reserved

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Document last modified on: 01/06/2007

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