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Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Dying Thoughts Of A Beached Whale

I lie resting half into the sand
And she pulses against me
As softly as the edge of the sea
Envelopes the edge of the land;

She pushes but never overmounts
My naked flank like a rock
Or the sunken support of a dock
Stuck just where the tide runs out

And the blank dark ceiling above
Shows vision and memory
That astrology and astronomy
Reveal, but these are alive with love.
Christopher Woodall
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