Sea

Clouds tremble in ripples. Behind the shadow—
a gravity-rainbow.

Someone painted the sky’s branches bright—
branches history had drawn.

Light and clay shaped you;
I was nursed by contradiction.

A silent genesis of structures
no eye was meant to see.

Lured by the Forbidden,
my curiosity aches
beneath my ribs.

In the bed of the silent sea,
an infant wakes,
longing for mother’s milk.

That gaze—
overripe, unbearably lonesome.

By the measure of blood
dripping from us,
we did indeed live.

There was always someone—
laughing,
offering up such proof.

He kept watch
over that eternal tragedy.

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