Why is there no air in the wide sea?
All the narrow air,Narrow, stangulating air above me,
Isn't my share.
I cannot escape where there are bubbles,
Underwater, or where there are drops,Aboveground, suspended, where we breathe to grow
and to extert mastery.
There is no kindness in me, least of all
that which is eldest, among kin,Who have known one another forever, loved without knowing,
And known everything.
I have no purposes that leach in toward the sun
Or are beaten outward by the solar wind,Heated particles now frozen, driven
To infinity in entropy,
But am a slighter creature, superheated,
Cooled till dead,Enough to fill a cookie pan and feed,
And so be put to bed.
RAY TUMBLESON describes himself thus: "I unite in myself wit, wide knowledge, & amazing incompetence in all practical matters." A Harvard graduate, he has retreated to the wilds of Oregon where the only other avocation possible is survival.
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