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the world’s rim

20 April 2010

standing on the shores of the western sea
falcons soaring in air, the fish swimming beneath me
the sound of the waves crashing against rocks
far older and more interminable
than any of my most imaginative dreams;
i close my eyes, and slip back to that day
the grey blue of the sky reflected
on the deep blue of the sea
where the cries of the falcons pierce the ear
as their talons pierce their prey–
and i remember the motion of the day
the feel of the grass, the salt-dirt-sand smell
of looking out to the uttermost west,
forgetting that, beyond that now-passable horizon,
was the land of my birth,
instead, feeling the accumulated memories
stacked and piled like the stones of countless fences
all over the island,
and feeling a profound sympathy
awakened, perhaps, by some genetic memory,
for all the others who had stood here and looked
dreaming of paradise beyond the world’s rim.

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