Sunday, April 13, 2008

Apprension in the Eighth Month (for Ruthy)

Your palm resting on your belly where the ghost
enlarges and the bone cycles, like continents,
are dividing and canyons filling, and who
are you in the midst of the rivers as you sit
on the far side of your globe and count mornings?
You cuddle close to your organs and hum cautiously
because the pit-patter in the valley
is an echo and you know you are not
dreaming. You listen and you hug and you'd pray
if a bell sounded or a cork grew, but you
are stranded and are asking for the tides
rising and lowering. You stand arched
like a bridge as the sea flushes below you,
and you are beached north of the breaking rain.

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