What comes off the sea recalls nothing
of loving a world and for those with eyes
wishing soemthing other than what is seen
it says: listen.
Comes off the sea and does not care, says
There may or may not
be a hand
in this: a taste
salt, some origin
with calm, says
now on your own.
shy-grown citizens. City of harbors.
What comes off the sea has tinned the sea
wide and for miles like wheat blown one direction.
Off the sea, the distance it has glassed
faultering, comes near to ask
Who are you, and after you answer,
just sea, air,
nowhere in the gift-bearing world a voice
having said salt, water—
and in not saying,
a thing we may call quiet,
voice having sung.