By Kay Ryan,
Current poet laureate of the United States.
Here and there,
at the edges and marges,
a bit of an elephant surfaces-
a dome and a dip, a haunch
or an aspect of head-
some worn-away soft and yet
angular hump of the
shambling elephant armature,
up through the earth - a bump
or a knob with the elephant signature.
The ancient, implacable creature
comes ambling back; a bulge
reemerges, that sober, that
giveaway gray. The dirt
rubs away from a treasure
too patient and deep to be lost,
however we've hurt, whatever
we've done to the beasts,
whatever we say.
Ryan, K. (1996). Elephant Rocks. New York, NY: Grove Press.
Photo Credit: google images
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