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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
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
© Copyright 1997, 2019, The Fairfield Review Inc., All Rights Reserved.
Document last modified on: 01/06/2007