When the sea meets the bay, water bursts
like a bomb over docks, breaks the ropes
of fishing boats, knocks them into each other,
smashes their small hulls, rushes up the block
When the sea meets the bay, water bursts
like a bomb over docks, breaks the ropes
of fishing boats, knocks them into each other,
smashes their small hulls, rushes up the block
He startles and flies—
but for a moment, a pool of warmth,
a pool of stillnesss, for a moment
Overnight,
new toadstools
shoulder through
sodden grass
the way sorrows
emerge,
I didn’t ask the caterpillar
with its antennae tangled
criss-cross in a cobweb
if it wanted to be healed,
by Ellen Deitz Tucker That we do not fall betweenthe wide-spaced atoms plottingedge and surface in our world—that the world itself does not fall through us, that our bodiescan move…