Edge of Worlds

 
Understand the sea. Is it redundant? But
it had a purpose long ago when fish were something else.
Understand something that serves no purpose.
The complex body harnesses the busy mind
for a short and simple gesture. What are we
if we are not today, yesterday or tomorrow,
but the mark of these? If we shoot a deer dead
on the side of a mountain, and are not hungry,
are we a product? Or just a sound. The sound
of air as it pushes out of our atmosphere.

Here, in the sun he just wants to sit. Let the bricks
grow hearts and stretch out to the sea to meet
like strangers, at the edge of two worlds.
He wants to thread through her skin again at this edge,
where things become clear in passion. Before strange.
What are we if not the ocean or the concrete, but the alien fish
that momentarily blundered between worlds
that were much too simple to be understood.