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Quiet Creature

This dark water rises
over calves, hips, breasts
and so weak I have become
quiet creature of flesh and bone
arms lifted as branches
straining and striving
curled fingers limned by light
I am reaching for the sun.
Still I sink
I falter, I fall.
What way is there to survive
except to reach?
What is this silence?

18 Aug 12

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(71 more poems by this author)

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