A woman sits on the one rock white as her body. She gazes out to the tuna-fishing silence of the early morning watercolor with its sloshing and response. She is far away from herself: not a hysterical uterine, not Leda peaceful after flooring the swan. Sea foam is not her counterpoint. Sea motion is not her metaphor. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...REMEMBERED MUSIC; A FRAGMENT by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL PRAIRIE VOICES by CHARLOTTE LOUISE BERTLESEN A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 32 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT ON BOARD THE CUMBERLAND by GEORGE HENRY BOKER MY OWN EPITAPH by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) PURPLE ASTERS by HILDA CONKLING |