They knew of no shores,
they washed up
expelled by the sea with such tenderness
that they slept,
dreaming of an old horse and He,
the boat they had named for it
when it lay on the barn floor in winter
there was no barn
there was no horse and the quiet sea
held no boat.
Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd something not-mine that I love:
by Elaine Terranova
In the heat, in the high grass
their knees touched as they sat
crosslegged facing each other,
a lightness and a brittleness
in their bodies. They touched
like shells. How odd
that I should watch them say goodbye.
What did it have to do with me?
There was my own stillness
and the wasps and the tiny flies
for a long time taking stitches
in the surrounding air and
a comfort I felt, as the wind
tore through, to find the trees
miraculously regaining their balance.