Spring 1998 • Vol. XX No. 2 PoetryApril 1, 1998 |

Above the Red Deep-Water Clays

    Capacity is both how much of a thing there is and how much it can do. From a solid magnetized and very hot core, the earth suffers itself to be turned outside. Closest to its heart are the deepest submarine trenches and sinks. Its lava finds clefts there in the old uplifted crust, the ocean floor a scramble. Wrapping at depth huge shield volcanoes, the North Atlantic down- and upwells, its denser layers making room behind them through the blue-green shortest wavelengths of light. Inside the cubic yards it levies, league by league, respiring, budgeting its heat, it hides its samenesses of composition through and through. For the normal water level, an ideal solitary wave is surplus. Any wave's speed is what it is only if reversing it would render it still. Surfaces are almost without feature at Sea Disturbance number one. When the wind stretches them, their wrinkling gives it more to hold onto. Three is multiplying whitecaps. Spray blows i

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Posited

By James McMichael

    Capacity is both how much of a thing there is and how much it can do. From a solid magnetized and very hot core, the earth suffers itself to be […]

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