Pushed prow southerly into the golden wind:
hurt the eyes: gold pelted water: so looked less far away:
plovers huddling on the tide's last piece of shore:
Rise up in brightness: clap wings::
I told myself I'll go where eagles go: if to brimstone:
my wake a narrow river back
to its source in cedar: and when sunlight embers
the shore's soft fleece will be before me.
Source: Poetry (January 2008).
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This poem originally appeared in the January 2008 issue of Poetry magazine
Carol Frost was born in 1948 in Lowell, Massachusetts. She studied at the Sorbonne and earned degrees from the State University of Oneonta and Syracuse University. The author of numerous collections of poetry, including Honeycomb: Poems (2010), The Queen’s Desertion (2006), I Will Say Beauty (2003), Love and Scorn: New and Selected Poems (2000), and the chapbook The Salt Lesson (1976), she has received grants from the National . . .
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