I brought back from despair a basket so small
that it could have been woven of willow, after Rene Char.
This body was a flock of gulls over open sea.
The cries, those of hunger entering clouds.
Wind moved seagrass as nameless grasses and an inlet
to shivering still.
From the waters, clouds lifted than were
caught in the skirted slopes.
There were thoughts of departure through the luminous course,
but a chaos of crows darkened.
One discovered within himself the power to free others.
One stepped away from her flesh but remained.
30 years have passed between these clouds.
There is nothing that cannot be seen from here.
How did you know, solitary, that we who were without clarity
were about to speak?