Or could it be what's on the
Other side of the wall
Is what was re-enacted?
The voices were no more
Than gusts in caves,
Secreted to alphabets.
Experience at a distance
Led to assumptions
Of what is:
The golden seaweed braids
That lured me out before
Generalized to amber,
So the echo spray,
The batter-spreading surf,
The spatter that persists inside the ear
Were moving hands,
Imploring eyes,
Phonetic lips:
Powders for the painter
To render the transparent
Boundaries of his world
And find a face
In the edge of wind
Distinct from the air,
It moves at a remove
From the sea
As from me,
Seemingly asking to be caught
In flagrant delecti, the naked,
What is not.