Then they come, the three seal men
with eyes as round As dinner plates
and eyelashes like sharpened tines.
They bring the scent of licorice.
One sits in the washbowl,
One on the bathtub edge;
one leans against the door.
"Can you feel it yet?" they whisper.
I don't know what to say, again.
Patting their sleek bodies with
"Well, maybe next time."
And they rise, Glittering like pools
of ink under moonlight,
And vanish. I clutch at the
They leave behind, here at
the edge of darkness.
Night rests like a ball of fur
on my tongue.
Written by Rita Dove
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