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Old Rocks out in the Late Light
Chill air and the sea sunk, like a lake
In drought-time, back from the gray sand,
A bright place the size of a man's hand
On the waves, where the light comes through a break
In low clouds. And the striped rocks. They take
The eye between fl at sea and land,
Humped, leaning, pale band by dark band,
Green-bearded, dripping, with pools that quake
In the raw breeze. Here's one pokes out
At our cliff s a heavy upper jaw
That with the lower grips in its maw
The sand I cross. Surely the brief light
Is holy, and holy the darkness light
Makes when it goes, but not that snout.