A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
His under shell, concave, makes it easy to lock on; we watch from the boat, the island of volcanic ruff in jagged silhouette behind us. They push through water like a plough through weighty snow, he, mostly still; she paddles them along, sometimes a full six hours till he slides off. To be amazed at her luck or pity her trials--- I look for signs and see none, her hooked mouth, closed, her green eyes unchanging.
From Echolocation published by MadHat Press/Plume Editions. Copyright 2018 Sally Bliumis-Dunn.