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The Island


You want to say
every evening is different
therefore beautiful.
Tonight it is high tide
and the sea is red.
Here, the Manisseau drove
forty Mohegans from the bluffs.
These boulders are their graves.
Every night a shadow
falls across them like a slow wave,
the sun gone behind the island.
Nothing really changes.
Let's say you paddle out in a canoe.
Each night you come
from a place below sea level.
You still think life comes easy.
But notice how the stars
appear red again.


Jeffrey Greene

Beyond Our Means
Kelsay Books / Aldrich Press


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