Munificence is of the Sea
which you cannot explain, nor do,
Because it is too Big.
At first, seem quiet, the
continents dragging themselves along, their immense
Books of Wounds
like black stones ribboned in white
doodling on their own bandaged pages.
At first, a gray doubt. Like a dove, almost
not there; like an
elephant’s eyelid
opened
already, it comes.
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