Cohen: Two Poems Page 2 A probing surf flings sheets of foam across the keel and then retreats, backsliding whole, leaving its salt. The sting of brine dissolves the thing that will not break. Only the sand, its giving grain, can smooth the waves, knows how to wrest from crashing fists the long caress. How can we learn not to resist? Whatever clings to form brings pain, the stubborn ache in a shifting world of holding shape. Joshua Cohen writes from Roslindale, Massachusetts.