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Perspectives on the Geographical Cure

April 20, 2010

by Dan Lear

I stood that morning with my back to the Atlantic
feeling tall. My shoes had been in six oceans.
My shadow etched a line across America.

By West Virginia I was smaller. Above straight
walls of rock the sky was a circle
I held in my arms.

In Kansas I saw the overpass twelve miles
before I reached it. At 80 mph
I stood still and disappeared.

I swelled and burst in the desert of New
Mexico. The dry air
sucked me brittle, a seedhusk losing seed.

By Needles I was too thin to matter
when the car broke down. I walked back to town
afraid no one could see me.

Finally, Monterey and my chest to the Pacific,
expanded like an eclipse.
At noon the sailfish lept into dark.

I was surprised to find you, still in me,
the same size you were when you left.

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Dan Lear writes in St. Louis, or wherever else he happens to be.

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  1. April 21, 2010 at 12:02 am

    This is so beautiful — shocking, really, where it goes and how. Is there any chance that you’d give me permission to post it on my blog? I know my readers would adore it. If not, I can always put a link to here.

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