in sum loveliness
and piecemeal disappointment:
I have been finding your baked-clay-coat,
crushed into the carpet.
It will not come loose
I lick my palms, I bow low to it;
After the harvest, I wet it down.
I try to make something sea-worthy.
Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd something not-mine that I love:
Untitled poem from The Western Borders
by Susan Howe