The nights are full
because of dreams steaming through them.
The days are full
— new skylines, new shoals, new tides.
The nights are empty, for the sea rolls
and wrings the dreams out
from the wet rag of your body.
The days are empty
because the skyline is the same
and the light on the sea
has a sameness that is killing,
and the waves are another name
for repetition repeated endlessly.
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