again, wind comes unrolling out of the east
like a prophet, judging with a heft of its
palm the weight of things, taking measure
with spanned fingers of the space between,
while wolf-fish graze the floor of the sea,
the teeth inside their smiles white as beacons.
plenty of time to consider the dimensions
of your loss, how it might be listed
on manifests. still, what you have left
is better than you deserve. and sufficient,
if one holds on hard enough, to keep you afloat
a narrow band of slip shows now
beneath night’s skirt on the horizon,
and widens. once again as you watch, light,
with its hunger, will have the world.
– James Sallis