The sea took pity: it interposed with doom:
‘I have tall daughters dear that heed my hand:
Let Winter wed one, sow them in her womb,
And she shall child them on the New-world strand.’
. . . . . . . .
by John Sibley WilliamsBeneath the long shadows of crosses and crows
that shade the slopes of passing hills
the white space I have left around this experience
explodes into a smile of oaks—
the page is a blur with unspeak—