Thursday, April 14, 2005


Beneath your feet / worms aren't worrying.
Julia Darling

The tide will wash up as far as the green rock
and then it won't, the sea birds will drop
their shells, the man on the yacht
will throw back his head and laugh
and though there are pictures of him
in all the albums, he won't know you
tomorrow when he picks up your little girl,
he'll drive away without a word, three years
it's been and he won't say a word
but he will roll down the window
so she can wave goodbye
tossing love from her small white hand
like sea spray.


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