As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.
And what of the dead? They lie without shoes in the stone boats. They are more like stone than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.
the marriage twists, holds firm, a sailor's knot.
I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.
I think it will be a miracle if I don't someday end up killing myself.
Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.