The still explosions

The still explosions on the rocks,

the lichens, grow

by spreading, gray, concentric shocks.

They have arranged to meet

the rings around the moon, although

within our memories they have not changed.

And since the heavens will attend

as long on us,

you’ve been, dear friend,

precipitate and pragmatical;

and look what happens. For Time is

nothing if not amenable.

The shooting stars in your black hair

in bright formation

are flocking where,

so straight, so soon?

— Come, let me wash it in this big tin basin,

battered and shiny like the moon.

Elizabeth Bishop, “Shampoo”.

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