One after the Other

Luminous with lack I billow invertebrate
in salt and algal dark. A thing making sense
one human at a time in this lean doom.

The narrative, inviolate, declines
chromatically. I order my days by depth
of hue. Light is sensible and fathoms

where history refused. Before self
shades into name, the foreground spores
atomic. Swaths of nothing to call

back, or by her name. Loitered at doors
coming or going, was I set against
four walls or the shore and sand?

Does the story confuse its tense?
Does she cohere like skin, how it holds
our hells together, syntax and sheath.

If you believe, there may still be hope.
I might still convince you when someone
happens in my life the minutes undulate

and bloom. And anthers of stamen
burst to cloud my flight, void
of story, all flaw and collapse.

Let me suspend your dread for awe.
Let me care for you in our time of lead.
Reels re-imagine her unbroken

and nameless until I name her, unmade.
Before maker, she makes herself a thing
making sense in this lean doom, regardless

of what in fact happened, is happening—
the ground or ocean to swell her heavy
sunk in a salt and algal dark, all light, all lack.