poetry texts, poem archive at plagiarist.com

Looking to the sea, it is a line
of unbroken mountains.

It is the sky.
It is the ground. There
we live it, on it.

It is a mist
now tangent to another
quiet. Here the leaves
come, there
is the rock in evidence

or evidence.
What I come to do
is partial, partially kept.

Added: 13 Sep 2001 | Last Read: 12 Oct 2008 9:15 PM | Viewed: 2492 times

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