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Claire Carroll


Freakish Sites of Immense Truth


The beach. One small boat-body

seems to shake, flinging itself

down, down, into the sand.


The water oozes, becomes

a secret channel to the sea.


A green tint lump of glass,

almost opaque, impossible nothing.


But glass, dull light upon a finger,

the vague sea-strain of thought,

looked at again and again:


That impulse to pick up millions

of stones, place a little pile in the brain.

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