If I had been a sailor, stranded, night after night on the open water,
with nothing between me and the emptiness undisturbed
but the membrane of my body, perhaps it would be understandable,
because I was just a boy, it, was just chaos.
Sometimes there would be fire, bank upon burning bank.
Sometimes there would be sorrow.
It was an island where it was always dark,
except when the light was blinding.
Just trying to make sense of the unfolding chaos,
to feel the weight in words, the density of shadow.
to hear the sound of paradise,
where surprise turns to revelation,
before it’s gone, along with all that was just here,