steer then forward
moons slide by
hustling days on
talking go
unchanging I—
say, not really.
an uncovered death
slowly stirring
I await, await
the blooming, as
sounds of bees
fade and fly
however patient
gold-licked lakes my skins,
sweet grief is my food
dusk-dipped despair
my bed
steer then onwards—
laced my sleep
with seas' gentle excitements