Watching the flags in the faring wind, // making a sign,
Bright trumpets and taps // splash the facetious brine.

The sun, to the left, // laboriously laps once more,
Another year’s regret, // reaching closer to the shore.
The catalog to paradise cannot be filled, // someone’s pity,
Never satisfied, never self-extricated; // waiting, gritty.
Taut, rounded, tar, tan,
Away they go, again without a word;
Not known, born on the sea, // no time to see.

Bitter almond, black chocolate, // caramel, cookie,
Hearing the heartbeat, // an echo in the vein,
Glass of gloomy night, // stranded on the milky shoal, in sweet,
Where we met, merged, // acidless, dense, upon the swell.

The nineteenth or the twentieth,
At the close of every end, // always the one gladly announce,
Nothingness. Then who cares, // to feast on fancy for hollow truth?
Youths in suits, where stalking plants parade, // in the park,
Teaching the tender // to wield the water-cannon’s blade.
Such… In such a fantasy, // such a fatal fall,
Is merely hopelessly wishful thinking, // after all.

Calm, sleep in the ice,
Felicity, a void we encumber,
Stark satiety that breeds only scorn.

Netted by nerves, panicked // by the purely mundane,
Busy to bury, to stifle the sorrow,
Stacking but never steeped… together, // it is time to sing.
Bathing, muscles in the // mute breathing and spreading,
A sudden snap of the dryer; // rising, among the air,
Who mistook the beard for the hair?

Who raise the rise? // Who set the sail?
Silently streaming, // on the river’s rail.