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Others see silvered far-flung loneliness.
Shadowed boom of surf. The waste of breakers

pulling back. The voices that they hear: chaos,
malice, an alien ear. These others

took in the mirror to find the divine.
I look in the long sweep of waves. Rolling

lash of dark water against the hull. Brine
on my lips. Endless gray wet. There’s nothing

for the landsmen obsessed with sin and shame
down here; the men who say that they have known

that their divine is here to mollify
them with what is unknowable. No name.

No shape that you’ll recognize as your own
except in shadows as great fish swim by.