The strength of the genie comes from being in a bottle.

There is a poignancy in all things clear, In the stare of the deer, in the ring of a hammer in the morning. Seeing a bucket of perfectly lucid water We fall to imagining prodigious honesties.

What is the opposite of two? A lonely me, a lonely you.

The strength of the genie comes from being in a bottle.

Happy in all that ragged, loose collapse of water, the fountain, its effortless descent and flatteries of spray.

Teach me, like you, to drink creation whole/ And casting out myself, become a soul.

All that we do is touched with ocean, and yet we remain on the shore of what we know