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Bill O'Connell
Sakonnet Point

SAKONNET POINT A young man powers his boat between the rocks of the point, trap to trap, pulling them up, rebaiting, dropping them back to the sea. I sit on a rock, far away from my labors, stretching my neck like a loon worshipping the sun. We want a consciousness greater than our own: the magnificence of geese rearranging the sky. We want someone to breathe us, like Adam, into life each day. Delivering us on a prayer, a body to transport our souls into loving arms.