I imagine you <br /> <br /> pulling polished blades,<br /> fulcrumed in oarlocks<br /> smooth-silent,<br /> that lift and drop <br /> and cut<br /> moon-ivory water.<br /> <br /> your breath rhythms<br /> to splash-slip<br /> soundless seas,<br /> unknowns<br /> breaking surface,...<br /><br /><br /> norm milliken 2026-06-09 text/html en Poetry