life is a series of distances away 
from the first image. clear & bold 
as i remember. the old water tasted
deeper & you wouldn't know.
not yet. when i was born there
was a circle cut out above us
from which all the ocean poured.
it was dry & all the fishes
thrashed about, gasping. a hovering
silver pitcher. the hunks 
of ice we mistook for lovers. 
the first stage of distortion involves 
falling victim to blue-- i'm sickened by it.
what else is there though, really?
freezing is a proximity,
the edge is us & then the bottom
of the world where no will go,
that is god. he is blue.
he is cruel, we know. slowly,
gently pulling sight from us.
he is also made of eyes. cold & stone,
a clasp of coins, turning, 
dissolving in the salt. 
what you spend your vision on 
will never be enough. 
invent a language & eat it. 
crouch in a room made of your grey skin.
occupy yourself there. 
become illegible to the others,
it is best to listen only for flavor,
the rest is dull. don't leave
me, not yet. no one else
will know your body like me.
you must not measure age,
that is crucial. i counted 
the sun for 200 years until
i could no longer perceive it,
time & light have nothing for me.
left with these ghosts resemblances,
flickers of yellow & green. 
my mother has become passing metal.
the bones of a fur-creature 
moaning in me-- a hull.
tell me then, please,
what do i look like?
describe me. 
you sound too fast to be alive,
oh grey child. your eyes are cut
out of the sky. how deep do 
you go today?
you smell so so blue.