Friday, January 11, 2008


Does your seaweed hair in slowmotion unfurl
Overcranked with seasilt
And do your lips moistly part
Like a pungent oyster
Your pearlglistening eyes
Coldly reflecting across their surface
The forgotten face of your brother,
His features blank with unreason—
Submerging, descending
As you rise to meet him?
Can Love journey into such depths
And retain its name—
And can an angel, feathers choked with oil,
Lungs packed with silt—sing of wonder?

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