explicitly the sea,

dun. the wide sea and sudden.

depth. excess. come on.

he and his hair-breadth.

he and herons swooping

by, bodily.

he peers down, down

to feel his insides, he

can feel them being in there.

he sees the miles themselves

like chains under the water,

where he goes – out of sound,

the tune of his hearing

channelled into the dark back

nowhere, no time. come on.

a buckle in the sea.

a leaning on the shove

of the sea, sealnosing

up the cold rocks and rugged.

he takes flesh from his trough.

he stretches it on his bones.

he takes form from the sea

and hangs it on his bones.

form, what a mouthful.

come on. come on.

he can feel the trout’s

furious icepack engines

rattling like gunboats.

he can feel the air

starting there and pouring

all the way down to here.

a boat passes over

and he feels the deepdown

cello hum of it,

beneath sound, where he stays.

he wraps the shape.

of his shape. around

his shape. the margins

of an anguish