Thursday, January 27, 2011

The Skeptic

On braver days
my sad eyes do rise
to trace the Pacific main
where blue sky
touches the flat sea
like a bubble on a stream,
the arc of the world
made real before for me

Who has seen
the round Earth
from the vantage point of stones?
Those rare men who know
what I do not,
from space they gaze
upon my shore

Then in a moment
the lapping brine
runs cold against my shins
and the leap and howl
of careless play
launches me to stars
I cannot see

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