Underwater my limbs waver in front of me — 
gently, muscularly, I exhaust the ocean
scrubbing raw against the salt flakes, crystal above
the bleached coral. Clinical cleanliness, writing 
before you read, style, speaking before you think. 
Mercy plays in opposites:  monk seals reclining
decked out in caution tape; whole beaches receding 
and the distance between the islands increasing. 

Apparently great Science has predicted this — 
a clinical statement for a clinical world. 
The truth is that we live here loose, like a spider 
in a forest web constantly spinning her catch. 
She awakes each morning bedecked in glass dew drops,
praying the day will not bring anyone her way. 

Rozell, 2022.

1 Comment on “Sonnet for the Times

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