A tiny animal kept close to me on a string.
Warm and precious wool, a little black lamb whose face
is a miniature universe. Then the dream
shifts, I'm walking along my childhood beach
and there's a doll's arm in a nest of seaweed,
a leg pokes from the parted mouth of a blue
quahog shell. Keep walking. A doll's red-cheeked
face, golden curls tumbling in the foam
that pumps in and out at the shore like the edge
of a huge heart. But it's not up to me to put
the doll together. It's understood: I'm here to guard
separation, preside over the widening drift.
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