Some comments on the legend how cold fish are, followed by the poem:
A ROOM
unread books piled high on the floor
sofas and chairs that smelled of
the salt scent of breaking waves
tented with yellowed sheets under
dust floating in what's left of sunlight
paled by a fractured window
outside a wind riffles the moors
a dog barks at something it sees
moving in the branches of an oak
then lies suddenly still for no reason
dreaming of a room identical to
all the others this room my room
the one that always stands
too near this engulfing ocean
ERIC BASSO, USA
December 19, 2012
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