Aug 212011
Know, Noelle, this nothing that round 
Us wends is not the nothing 

That follows when we descend
Into each others' eyes.  There 

We re-meet, there forget 
The ruddy ruts that shaped our feet.

There our eyes are shiny rings
Of tambourines, shaking as we sing.

In the guttering firelight 
On the blackened beach, we sing;

We sing the shining sea, the river's ring:  
Just there, just out of reach.

"O salt and blood, o half-hewn thing,
Propound, propound these nothings that we sing!"

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