the apple is pupil plus cornea
or maybe the magnetized pole
in pacific sea, pinhole
or some sinkhole in a shelf
of split ice. my flamboyant
sadness smells of citrus
and paint thinner. what if
i painted my future kid’s walls
that color. what if i could
talk to the three-letter word
that is one letter. a hole
in a hollow is also me
and an eye and the middle
of the riddle. and the eye is echo
not rhyme, linked like a low keen
from sea to sea, or a fruit
bruised perfect blue. beginnings
can be magnetized, too. i try
not to think of ice when i’m
with you.