give me this sea, this placid longing
through a sad and sinking window,
allow me the currency of the present curtain
of gray fabrics drawn against the sun.
the window of spring has shut,
and i am pushed into a misty
form that is formless. tiny needles
of rain shatter the surface of the sea.
she is a refracted mirror too tired
to stir her appendages, unable
to walk or swim.
so it is i, eyes and ears and heart
afire, looking, listening, feeling my way
through a topsy-turvy season,
witnessing footprints, watching them
recede. i cannot find
the precision of my path
amid such shifting shores.
i have seen it all before.
this is my home, my cradle
and my grave.
i greet this gray curtain
with a steady hand, parting
the liquid illusion, seeking
evidence of blue, gold, green,
or just a falling feather.
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