persistent, flowing through fallen shadows,
excavating tunnels, drilling silences,
insisting, running under my pillow,

The tide covers, discovers, recovers, and always walks in the nude.

The tide weaves and unweaves, embraces and separates, is never the same and 
never another.

The tide, sculptor of forms that last as long as their surge.

Temples look like discarded alphabets.
We loved lying in their shadows lazily
deciphering and resting and laying bets

Never so deeply in love as I am
have I been,
never so nourished by touch as I am

It doesn’t speak and it isn’t schooled,
like a small foetal animal with wettened fur.
It is the blind instinct for life unruled,

All my girlfriends were talking about sex
and the vibrators they ordered from “Eve’s
Garden” which came with genital portraits

Putting a burden down feels so empty
you almost want to hoist it up again,
for to carry nothing means there is no “me,”

How daring to become my clever, lying
grandmother and before that my sister whose loved,

Now that my desires suit my powers
I find a splendid past in this present

Why would an orgasm make someone weep?
Why, for being loved now when one had not been.