What seems like creamy foam
Contains an essence
Of motion
From some rogue spirit
Far enough away
To exist
Apart from us
As a sovereign being
Rolling all the words
Into impenetrable
Sentience.
We give it measure,
A space for breathing,
And our time dissolves
In its abyss
And space recedes
To our scarcity of vision,
As what we know goes
Folding in its swells.
