Sea Level

By Susan E. Wheatley

Nothing seemed different.

In the swing of the moss in the breeze,

in the south, in the not-quite-spring,

the ocean flattened green, blue.

 

The natural things do shift,

but so slowly, with such quiet retreat

or advance, that those more observant than I,

 

with particular knowledge, certain instruments,

can detect what is leaving and confirm

 

that sorrow is in order.

___

Susan E. Wheatley’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in literary magazines including StandThe Seattle Review, and Bayou. She is an estate planning lawyer and lives in Cincinnati.


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