Sarah Baskin’s painting of the Salt Pond in Blue Hill. Courtesy of the artist
Listen to what’s inside my ear
water entering an icy cove
muffled by trees and snow
Sound travels a circuitous path
through a forest the way
an empty whelk pours darkness
into a clenched hand
All that’s changed remains the same
the way footprints spring from starry moss
and fallen trees drape themselves on ledges
soften into bulky shapes
The spiral ebb and flow taps
fragile membranes in my body —
quiet wings paint the sky