Land Of Beryl Poem by Paul Celano

Looking down at empty pale feet
Pure crystal water
Kissing the gaunt quivering toes
Like tiny nipping lips

An intoxicating dewy tickle
Replenishes the ulcerated legs

Thin iced glass brushes the face
Coating it in a soft chilled frost

Salty needles pinch the eyes
Making vision blurry yet refreshed

To blink would be a miss
A loss of excessive sight
An immense beauty gone

A crawling land of beryl
A saturated endless terrene
An ocean