Meditation in Uproar

Photo by Jamie Madden

A storm sets the mill’s wings turning wildly
in the dark of night, grinding nothing—You are kept awake by the same laws.
The gray shark’s belly is your faint lamp.

Hazy memories sink to the sea floor
and turn into strange statues—Green with algae is your crutch. The one who
goes out to sea comes back harrowed.

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