Sunday, May 01, 2005

SWANSEA

Tonight the moon is multiplying
Newness, caressing
Carcasses lit into alien readymades, an oar

Limbs itself ashore, where our
Eyes dutifully labor over the novel
Creatures cantering

Through the dunes, the moon
Snaps like a luminous flag
On the waves, there is a ghost lady

Looming here perforated
By the strings of her
Harp refusing to impersonate breath

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