The Ecphorizer
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Deep in the nap of your jacket
my fingers are roots clawing away from the wind, .jpg) a moderate gale working the waves as a plane blades wood. It stiffens our hair batters the gulls rips the top off waves, the shavings of sand and spray that curl up together blond and raw in the sun
Only to fall, all drift and dust,
a film on the grain of the backs of the waves - It's us, you said, in the end, that's us, scraps of land and sea.  Much-published John Welch is a professional philosopher. He teaches at the University of Massachusetts, Boston. |
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