Friday, March 11, 2005


Crescent harbor arching to its point

Past the eons of ages gone,

Where no whales dip in

For a quick spout.

Walking a kind of Yurok way- although

Old burial ground sinks to sea:

And nameless ancestors, earthen now,

Erode to Neptune's spoutless grotto.

No horn of Triton greets

The merging of spirits and sea;

Simply the obscuring of muddy history-

Why tell the story?

The time has passed...

Into chunks in the black and indigenous earth:

Earth washed to a muddy, confused sea, where

We are at liberty simply to be adrift.


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