The land across the sea
Didn't start at nothing,
It carefully built its carapace
And slowly locked its doors.
And even the foam
Was once a part of him,
With every hustler's pleading,
Like a hummingbird is piece of a child.
Now it moves, another mind,
Gracious to keep its gems as glitters
In the distance, inauthentic to the hole
That is the singular soul
Who can find itself now
In the dark undercloud, the black gull,
By ripping them out of the unyielding
Fabric, as captives of the void.
But the tipped wings, the mussel shells
In shadow, how can they express
All is one, all is nothing
When there isn't anything that can?
And something clings, in the black
Single feather, to become his,
In the breach, the scree of bird voice
Filling with his commands.
