Monday, March 27, 2017

CATARACT

Foamy lakeshore—a shy
miasmatic eye

ambivalent as gray wind peering
crosseyed into opaque clots,

sand grit, fog—then
two keen

ears hear seagulls'
wet sharp cries

for help
somewhere they

can't decipher, will never
venture—guess they're

not so
used to getting

eaten up them-
selves.

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