Elephantine Calendar of Things
think
of
things as
a pretty
night filled
with
thoughtless
language,
of
petty
breathing with
just a
touch
of
english
though everything,
all of it, is
egyptian
in
simple
sand and
ocean spinning
inside a shell
where footprints
are hills
of
which
she’d never seen
beyond; there were two
fine giant stones:
“i’ve never seen things like that,” she admitted
of the dark elephantines
“they look like a heap of blackfish,”
she smiled,
“beached.”
