Fifteen years from now, a young stag
will look over his tawny shoulder to his mother,
standing pristine in the shadowy meadow,
and wonder to his primitive brain
why it is he feels as he does.
The mottled sunlight shall cast her still and lithe
and his own body will look mighty and strong.

The great Ocean, alluring and ferocious
has days of small temper and
days of full rage
and does not grant full leave to grasp.
The wind the moon the earth and
it cannot be said
whether she understands, herself.

A wave rises up tall and falls.
The young stag
will have never seen the ocean;
knowing nothing at all on the subject of waves,
his own heart shall yet rise up and up and
fall.

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