The sand, which will not hold the print of my foot,
Remembers, none the less,
The birth of stars,
And the sunken lines of sea-devoured continents.
It is the gray hair of earth,
Bleached and wave-beaten,
That has known the passionate rage of waters,
White heat of sun,
And the slow passing of a thousand thousand years.
"Khaki," another poem in the same volume, was posted by hypocrite-lecteur.
I assembled a collection of all of Flexner's books (and some other materials) ca 1978. Still have it. Must have been the combination of (1) a few good poems and (2) her obscurity notwithstanding the Yourcenar connection. Maybe there were other factors. So here we are.
tags: Hortense Flexner; decomposition; memory; sand; waves