This poem is taken from PN Review 176, Volume 33 Number 6, July - August 2007.
Five PoemsThe Waves
My child grows beyond
his tipped turrets of sodden sand.
He recreates pure
impatient forms from seawater.
The castles dry in no time;
he, unaware of the lifting foam.
As water strikes his world's edges
it overwhelms small villages.
As language is tsunami.
It carves half-worlds we
live and die in. There this
comparison dries.
Language became a wave, a break,
an intricate flat world in its wake.
...
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