This by Kay Ryan, from "The Best of It; New and Selected Poems"
CHOP
The bird
walks down
the beach along
the glazed edge
the last wave
reached. His
each step makes
a perfect stamp--
smallish, but as
sharp as an emperor's chop.
Stride, stride,
goes the emperor
down his wide
mirrored promenade
the sea bows
to repolish.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
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