The Innocence
Looking to the sea, it is a line
of unbroken mountains.
It is the sky.
It is the ground.
There
we live it, on it.
It is a mist
now tangent to another
quiet.
Here the leaves
come, there
is the rock in evidence
or evidence.
What I come to do
is partial, partially kept.
Poem by
Robert Creeley
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