a ship travels disconsolately toward the horizon
while on the shore
a child traces an abortive figure into
wet sand with the toe of his left foot
beneath the rippling surface there are no faces
no language and no sins
Tags: Inhalation, Susan Scutti
This one is quite thought provoking.
This is beautiful, insightful, and tightly, yet lyrically, composed. Yes, it’s composed.
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