the dark is a hardfind ember murmur
trapped and wrapped in cages with
pages of longing and wronging brought
to silence, to nothing by the deep, in
which we can see so far, and yet, no
thing we see is reachable.

in outer space, with no sun in sight,
i open my eyes. and yet more black
surrounds this craft alone, as if its
defiant lids were never unshut.

a glimpse: far-off needlepoints of light,
beyond the yawning gulf of pitch-black,
are born-dying drifts in sightless pits,
digesting in a bottomless gut.

The smell of periwinkles
helped me a lot when
I was a child
in a way that the stench
makes me think that the world
is just as beautiful.

The smell of periwinkles
still helps me a lot
now that I've grown and
still growing
in a way that the stench
makes me remember
how beautiful the world
used to be.