A time when there wasn’t a mouth
We’ll hide the moon in the curtain
and wait for the pulling away,
any ship or way beyond
the lighthouse. It will be
loose waves hanging
and blowing, finally uncovering
a lining of ghosts, hovering
over a clear mind when
looking into mirrors for a flash.
We’ll be wanting peace,
sailing with interior smooth
as white chocolate, melting
inside silver filings.
I had a little rust in my speech.
I had fraying cables in these connections.
There were big rocks that won’t stir.
and I was washing a lung
with scales of a fish.
He was wrong.
All I’ve known is to go deep into the dark.