"A sock left by the road...
A sock left by the road
Fills with sunlight
A shed skin which begins its own life
Our leavings
Have the dignity of snails
Moving slowly into their surroundings
We cannot use them
They have turned toward the earth
They are not our houses
But when we walk
They call to us
Like baby seals washed up on shore
Who cannot swim
Who cannot live on land
There is a blue scarf
I picked up once in the rain
It took weeks to dry
It languishes in a drawer
Too small for any neck"
--Judith Serin, in: NEW POETS: WOMEN, an anthology (1976)
"And not a Mountain Peak with Toil attain'd
But shows a top yet higher to be gain'd."
--FitzGerald's Attar
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