String Theory

by Catherine Simpson

On the ocean those shovels of blue
Smack wetly, and gulls and pelicans
Move through the air with those open,
Unashamed shoulders and grim avian
Expressions. In the torrent of sky one
Can almost see the tiny threads that
Make up things—shades of pink, red,
Blue, green, orange, shimmering and
Curving like pennants. I stand over
The cliff and inhale deeply. The sea
Blooms up salt air. The rippling,
Invisible threads tug out the deep Ah
That sits behind my ribcage: the
Substance of things beckoning me
Out of myself. The light moves in the
Atmosphere like milk spilled from a
Tin bucket. And the strings of reality


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