Was low a day into blues. Was echoing,
nay, whistling, a few moons ago. There’re
things said and things unsaid. Seen many—to
sense a location, wondering if
difference is contagious. Tentative
admiration—stay perfect, don’t act
human! There’s a submarine, it’s benthic,
it plumbs depth and soil, cutting kelp and
seagrass. Love is there. I exaggerate
to make a point. Fire inside. To have
a tell—something cute and precious, to
die in her arms. I know a soul in a
portal, magnetized and polluted; flame
into orbit, to sing silence, so
evolved a soul is crooked—wrestling
darkness, awakened, too afloat to rest,
it’s impossible. With depth
concentration, to enter heart, a bridge
between means so little. I wander
inside. I see an image. I keep my
eyes shut. A face in season, a trench coat,
to glance, to get closer, it all vanishes.
