You would think
the sea was blind
to me as I stare out,
deaf to the dull
pull of waters that
promise, if not love,
then love or nothing.

    — Heidy Steidlmayer, Scylla (thanks, grammatolatry)

Without a scar, he stood—

as the men make their way
into the quaking wood.

    — Heidy Steidlmayer, “Grendel’s Mother”