Saturday, September 12, 2020

Brine

You must not do a thing.
Don’t try to write this poem.
Don’t you dare take a nap.
Lie back with your eyes wide.
Wait as long as it takes

Of as long as you have.
You’ll hear it. You’ll sniff it
On the wind—far, far in.
That’s the sea in the shells
Of your ears. Now come back.