It’s about serious digging, near-rhymes
with worry. A job on this scale deserves music,
accompaniment, good insurance—but most
of us begin alone, uncovered, in the dark.
I can’t see but I quarry, I presuppose, I mean
to carry. Mine is the quarry of unmarry,
I’m wanting deep water, clear, no more
dead body. Rising out of icy blue, something
almost lovely, unblurry.


© 2001 Ellen Watson
from Ladder Music (Alice James Books, 2001)

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