you are just a prism, angling up my eloquence
        in yellow, just a plant—

    the mountains grew you from a trickle to a falls

and then you asked about yourself

                winter into spring a cantaloupe cloud
        or dizzy as a beaker full of light
frothing over spirals of kelp
                twelve mermen dried the sun, my source

you have folded Satan
        and I'm walking on a crease

just where one hue glued our tongues
                        did you notice?

I had left a thought inside you

that you opened without hearing
        and you told me in a butterfly
an endless list of colors without listening

Fourteen ants sat down at the table. After a few minutes, one said: "Where's dinner?"

I was walking home from scuba practice yesterday when I ran into a bear. At least, he looked like a bear. "Where the hell are you going in that suit?" he asked.

"Where the hell are all the sharks?" I asked back.

The letter A stands ready. Movement is beyond intention; A is thought.

The first is forward, of hands an apparition. Patience and offering move strength. A:boulder is an eye. A:constellation setting lifts A:boulder in A:basket made of thread.

The sun is breathing out the sea.

Two sails braking hunt are kites. The ships are god's own feet. He skates the sea and clouds his eye in crowding waves.