Morning
In the eco-poetry anthology,
I have tabbed the page
of H.D.’s ‘Oread,’
with its plea—”whirl up”—
to the sea. A request
for the splash, for the watery firs
to pool their greatness
on our rocks.
And the sun is a steady
surge of light, rising over the tab,
and the tab, that slight, bent edge,
is making a point of shadow
over the pines, the pointed pines
of the wished-for sea—
a covering of shadow
I can lengthen, or shorten,
by moving my fingers
across the smooth and pliant
page.
—L.L. Barkat
see Oread
