![close up picture of pile of bivalve shells](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2SUTmdpsAH6tKwWD6qb3ESgCNNss8sqaKqh8bYfleyunv-uUvbjDnaCLpi7lgv0zdLRbOe9yyOqCTZ5XbeZATjGGuTyDxuJgba3yV1hK8VDneAPD5Q98zT2yfs9CpEq8_hvfXN17csdBM/s320/shells+d+b.jpg)
their knees touched as they sat
crosslegged facing each other,
a lightness and a brittleness
in their bodies. They touched
like shells. How odd
that I should watch them say goodbye.
What did it have to do with me?
There was my own stillness
and the wasps and the tiny flies
for a long time taking stitches
in the surrounding air and
a comfort I felt, as the wind
tore through, to find the trees
miraculously regaining their balance.
from Not To: New & Selected Poems, published by The Sheep Meadow Press. Copyright © 2006 by Elaine Terranova.
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