slash at your bark,

you are lifted up,

aye—though it hiss

to cover you with froth.

[13]

[13]

THE WIND SLEEPERS

Whiter

than the crust

left by the tide,

we are stung by the hurled sand

and the broken shells.

We no longer sleep

in the wind—

we awoke and fled

through the city gate.

Tear—

tear us an altar,

tug at the cliff-boulders,

pile them with the rough stones—

 Prev. P 19/64 next