In this particular tub, two knees jut up like icebergs, while minute brown hairs rise on arms and legs in a fringe of kelp; green soap navigates the tidal slosh of seas breaking on legendary beaches; in faith we shall board our imagined ship and wildly sail among sacred islands of the mad till death shatters the fabulous stars and makes us real.

Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.

And I a smiling woman. I am only thirty. And like the cat I have nine times to die.

Beached under the spumy blooms, we lie Sea-sick and fever-dry.

Clouds pass and disperse. Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables? Is it for such I agitate my heart?

Hurl yourself at goals above your head and bear the lacerations that come when you slip and make a fool of yourself. Try always, as long as you have breath in your body, to take the hard way–and work, work, work to build yourself into a rich, continually evolving entity.

I hurl my heart to halt his pace.