(I mix my blues with blacks the horizon blurs
to the back of the ocean —
swinging low
beneath broken toes slack towers
it is possible to try this but gently
moving gingerly into the past
gathering flowers (hemlock bright berries etc.)
if you say ‘I seem’ we will all believe you
knotting tourniquets with shoelaces bought
for just such a purpose a touch here
then stopping for a cliff-top moment
before the beach turns lost waves
slip lower into the blackness
— feeling quite exceptionally well
we scan the night sky with a stethoscope)