Elizabeth Bishop "At the Fishhouses"
The water seems suspended
above the rounded gray and blue-gray stones.
I have seen it over and over, the same sea the same,
slightly indifferently swinging above the stones
icily free above the stones
above the stones and then the world.
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Words prize punishment
across the tortured white and dirty-white pages.
I have seen it push and push, the pale preponderance, the pale
politely purposefully playing above the pages
inkyly free across the pages
across the pages and then the tongue.
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