to the real itself


“There is only
the restoration of innocence–”
“I pick up on
calm, or passivity —
a mighty mildness
of repose in swiftness–
joined to the most instant
and powerful actions”
which — looking up
suddenly I see
in a quiet face
atop upsurge of neck
A mighty calm
cresting — a swell
to a world away
Gray eyes already a horizon
falling off into unseen blue
So no — harpoon in hand
perched on wavetossed boat
poised for the strike —
I would not hurl
but — held fast
by this untamed stillness —
hope only instead to be
struck myself and thus — restored.

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