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A Love by the Sea


In a fan shaped chair beside the sand,

(With your long, lovely, careful hand)

You write and finger pages, glance,

As ocean and the shore romance;

An ambient motion to compose,

For some sweet purpose, we suppose.


The rhythms here urge all comply;

Some pressing need for the sea to try,

And the patient land to give it back;

It is not desire that they lack;

An eye to open and to close,

For some sweet purpose, we suppose.


But oh, for honor, never us.

A literary love it was,

A literary love remains;

It is the writing that sustains.

Unpicked, we shall describe the rose,

For some sweet purpose, we suppose.


Robert Crawford



2000; originally printed in The Formalist.
Reprinted by permission of the author.


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