One of the women crouches at the edge of the cliff rolling things with shells over the edge. Clams, birds’ eggs, turtles, peekytoe crabs,
Come, you whisper. I run down the triple switchback, don’t stop to lift my fallen fleece glove. I find you in seizure, shivering,
I wake in a small house with one blue wall by a cold sea, also blue, most days transparent where water works itself
Then came I entire to this moment process and light to discover the country our waking breaking open —Muriel Rukeyser, from “Breaking Open” The