Two Poems by Emily Knight (Poetry ’25)

Chrysaora quinquecirrha

Warm winds meet cold waters, raise folds
of Maine fog. It slows my car, it flicks
on my headlights feeling around

for each cliff-edge, each threat
lurking in the mist like distant thunder.
Or that thing that blurries dreams,

that abandons us on an edge of revelation.
I admire this Maine, have come to its edge
to pursue, to measure, to master. Oceanography.