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.