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Comments about Deborah Jordan
Under a concave hoof print, a pool.
Sand under the water.
The sea is still.
Inhales deeply from the other side of the ocean
where west coast becomes eastern seaboard.
She inhales and all her minions in exoskeletons scrape together the seabed.
Raking it with awkward claws, into a sandbank,
from where, she pauses, and then, rolls out her sigh.
The lone surfer rides the sigh as it travels
and quiet blue turns to crashing white-water.
Moving inland, the sigh washes across the pebbles
making them rattle and dance.
But she who gives soon ...