Figura
Elizabeth Sanger

From synthetic crash of sea; sea’s admonishment

presaged on the newly sheer slip of shore

 

(grow me a face

where she is buried)

 

I in my half-shaded bode, shadow

 

of contiguity, event

sundered to a simple limb, history

cloaked and needful

 

ask how many

simultaneous woods are she

hooded through

 

or what bespeaks the tender

auto, its mad patience

to begin being—