WEBVTT

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Here's a poem
about a photograph.

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It's called "Portland, 1968."

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You stand as rocks
stand, to which

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the sea reaches in
transparent waves of longing.

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They are marred, finally.

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Everything fixed is marred.

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And the sea triumphs,
like all that is false,

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all that is fluent and womanly.

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From behind, the lens
opens for your body.

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Why should you turn?

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It doesn't matter
who the witness

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is for whom you are
suffering, for whom

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you are standing still.

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