Searching for the larger waters
you become a plot without achievement
and this business of humid distillation,
its golden impulse, disturbs their sleep.
These decibel selves, a lifetime avalanche,
wear a pair of scissors instead of clouds.
In contrast to earth’s simplicity, evaporating poems,
breathe a tiny paradise of ambiguity
line the horizon with euphemisms, and
purple the blood with their affectionate clattering.