Today, the twenty-third of July,
the day of the Whistling Pine,
house by the Dog.
I am 23% full.
I have cried, have laughed,
have watched over thousands of miles of flickering houses & hustling boats.
I am naked & the night,
amidst the black whine
of Hàn Mặc Tử & the peers.
They’re hurting, lonely.
They touch heads, vowing to live a night as long as a life, an absolute night, vowing to not understand,
to miss,
to not need to understand,
vowing the secret of an absolute reunion.
Their tragedy is crescent moon.
Their enemy is the graceless cloud.
Laying on a rock afar, is a green
creature, dreaming.
A Most Beautiful Earthling—
does she even know silence?

A drunken wave winds up within.

The naked me & the night gaze at our reflections on the ocean surface,
shiver & spread a jagged bright line often called
a lie.
Where are you looking? Look ahead, look back, why, what for?

Look up here. Where do
your hearts lie, my lost little leaping hearts? First, leap
up here.

The truth is only as naked. I push, and pull, pushing
lightly & pulling lightly. I push hard & pull hard, expand then retrieve only broken sobs,
muffled,
inaudible.

I love them independent sea shells.

They tenderly
rest their backs against the sea waves. I love how carefree they are, awaiting the day to merge as one
with the soft sand, leaving behind immortal secrets to
humanity. I love them hopeful sea forth, quiet, hesitant,
but fervent—fervently bursting, burst, giving themselves
into the waves for a chance to be reborn. I love,
very much, all the small things, fervently.
From up here, I witness the reunion of the most normal,
boring, static things & I breathe a sacral breath to grant
them a new existence. Breathe, breathe. Go, come.
Meet. Separate. Integrate.
Movement is the ultimate truth. Immense
pieces of reality. Connecting
reality into form.

This body is round. Naked.
Drifting.
Slit me in half to make a little boat. Chop the line in
half or carve
a paddle & sail the sea.

Plunge,
in, into the sea.
It’s quiet enough we hear
our inner waves.

In the night, the light is hurt,
is scared,
is in a coma.
In the night,
I take a dive into darkness of the sea—fishes’ fins droop,
fishes move into the known unknown.
In the night, the green creature embraces the broken shards of existence, strips them naked,
strips away
their personalities, away
their agonies, strips time
naked,
away,
all, until nothing
‘s left except whichever
that stays.