Polyphemus
I
am
not
so
much
surrounded
by
As
I
am
presented
with
A
plane
of
flat
light
The
better
to
bend
back
My
own
depths
Which
I
know
like
my
skin
The
spurs
of
my
bones.
What
need
for
travel
When
all
is
made
touchable?
The
breaking
waves,
A
blowing
whale,
A
black
storm
over
the
ocean,
The
shapes
in
the
sky,
My
sheep,
Like
snow
on
the
mountains
-
Not
one
a
hair
more
distant
Than
the
hairs
on
my
toes
And
each
perched
in
peace
On
the
blurry
bulb
Of
my
long
nose.