At low tide like this how sheer the water is.White, crumbling ribs of marl protrude and glareand the boats are dry, the pilings dry as matches.Absorbing, rather than being absorbed,the water in the bight doesn't wet anything,the color of the gas flame turned as low as possible.One can smell it turning to gas; if one were Baudelaireone could probably hear it turning to marimba music.The little
Home » elizabeth bishop » The Bight
Post a Comment