Because water should be thicker than air
Yet we hear the calls in the distance
Cutting through
distant thin air
awakening the drum
the chest pounding cousin
drunk again on flowers
After coming up
for air
It is thick with sound
so back down into the condensed vapor
where slits become the fashion
over many orbits
those that count
can't know
the peace of not knowing
Because bliss is infinitesimal
it burns on the edges of a cornea
dances it's way from hexa to deci
spins wild before breaking apart
Into more useful pieces
Tiles that patch walls
filaments for evening acuity
a tastebud that knows bitter bits
from something salty
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