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...ELEGY BEFORE DEATH by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY TO NIGHT by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY LONG LIVE LIFE by JACQUES BARON PSALM 3; WHEN HE FLED FROM ABSALOM; AUGUST 9, 1653 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE RAMBLE OF THE GODS THROUGH BIRMINGHAM, SELECTION by JAMES BISSET THE ETERNAL TRIANGLE by EMMA BOWERS THE COMMON LOT by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH FAREWELLS FROM PARADISE by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: BLUEBEARD by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |