To Mindless Forces.
who tumble all the stones along the shore of Campobello Island, smacking glass with sand until the cutting edge is frost, I'm telling you--for whom all wars and ages are a day's grind-- to go on grinding. Smooth and fling me now with what you flung before. This way the prayer is answered if not heard. The sea heaves dumbly on but I can speak. Sea, take this shore and the whole New Brunswick coast. I call your taking fine.
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|Publication:||The Carolina Quarterly|
|Date:||Jan 1, 2010|
|Previous Article:||The Great Me.|
|Next Article:||"I'm Most Comfortable with the Eclectic": a conversation with Stuart Dybek.|