January 29*

i curl into curl of shoreline sandstone
             into the ground of chuckanut earth
i open bare face to the sun, warming
             like a preening bird.
the placid wash of coruscate sea water on ears, brain.

i am given all this.
i give nothing of such substance back.

i look, listen, taste.
sit here.
and make this poem, these words.

it is what we do, our job.

*Copyright 2010 by Luther Allen. This poem appears in The View from Lummi Island.

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