Marrysong

=Marrysong= by Dennis Scott

He never learned her, quite. Year after year that territory, without seasons, shifted under his eye. An hour he could be lost in the walled anger of her quarried hurt or turning, see cool water laughing where the day before there were stones in her voice. He charted. She made wilderness again. Roads disappeared. The map was never true. Wind brought him rain sometimes, tasting of sea – and suddenly she would change the shape of shores faultlessly calm. All, all was each day new: the shadows of her love shortened or grew like trees seen from an unexpected hill, new country at each jaunty, helpless journey. So he accepted that geography, constantly strange. Wondered. Stayed home increasingly to find <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">his way among the landscapes of her mind.

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