Fogs descended from a higher realm,

The trees like tinsel wavering on the tide,

And our eyes clouded up with film

In whose worlds are better ends implied;


Breezes sloshing in the tubby caves,

Bizzard mirrored in a snowing tap

Of worlds painted by the waves 

Risen from my fleshy map;


A planet scudding on my soapsud skin,

All the galaxy inside my globe,

The very liquid that it washes in

Xeroxed on my body’s rippled robe:


A photo incubated in a box

Like an ocean that your eye unlocks.


Redone April 16, 2016