To the Reader by Denise Levertov

A headache the size of the earth this afternoon. I can’t believe how slow this week has been. I want to be near the sea. But you’ll laugh: I still don’t know how to swim.

To the Reader
Denise Levertov

As you read, a white bear leisurely
pees, dyeing the snow
saffron,

and as you read, many gods
lie among lianas: eyes of obsidian
are watching the generations of leaves,

and as you read
the sea is turning its dark pages,
turning
its dark pages.

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