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      January 30, 2019RainRobert Wrigley

      Before the invention of dew, sea spume,
      and estuarial braiding; before the enactment
      of the laws of evaporation, before nations
      of fish and krill and empires of foam;
      before the first shoe; before clouds
      took the shapes of clouds; before sand.
       
      After the tongue of the sun and root lick
      tunneling, after cambium and fat
      just under the hide; after the rat taught
      a bird to sing; after the afterward
      and the development of lees, after the wind
      lay bare the coats of the billion skins.
       
      Before the fall of the proud rain poured;
      after the ascension of the eagle.
      Before dawn did what it was made to do
      with dew, after the advent of the rainbow;
      before skins bathed in the skins.
      After the first kiss, all the others.

      from #61 - Fall 2018

      Robert Wrigley

      “By this point in my life—I’m almost 67, retired from four decades of teaching—it feels like writing poems is still pretty much what it has always been for me: both a way of being alive, and a way of staying that way.”