she once claimed
to fold paper for a living.
you had the audacity to believe
verses shaped to mise (on settings
of the briny deep) would never meet
i did, too.
tonight, rest lays base on a map
prematurely authored oceanus:
here is where i dream. set sailed
paled ail by her pneumonic seas
self-principled body of grief.
you are here, not lost to time
generated artificially over
wavelengths & frequencies that bear
no pause to the commas you never
seem to run out of—
no, you are here
with this volume-developed sense of space
& function, charged
by the polarity of our proselyte, inconspicuous
you are here
prostrating unmockingly, together
our own innocent novations.
but you survived her shipwrecked fatigue
with your own to hold. you
hardened your skin to her vesper’s
abstracted tease, anchored this trial
to wholly consented cardinal release
—you are here with me, cooled & serened
by her past disturbance(s) surfacing these waves—
the harmonious flux
of our aesthetic peace.