Rue de la Plume

oceans fitful
birth operas

i am living on the surface
drowning is a life
i haven’t learned how
to pronounce correctly

snow is equal to a summer
evening (i have drowned
evenly with you)

your hair
is a seaweed
of infinite blue

i will transcribe you
starting with heel-thick
winds empty as my hands

orange light
windows capable
of equating
the collapsed

how urns bear out of us
an evidence

the sun capitalizes the grass
each morning far older
bright infant
of hills