Float Number

Listening to the dust
darken your presence
in the cuts where los vatos
trade dime shadows
for an ounce of smog-colored
nada

versus your supple wrist
the moment relentless

drowning or dying of thirst

sunlight grazing on seagrass
& the archival rain

that the pearl inside
might bless the wound
w/an air-conditioned drizzle
like the names of waves you
can’t pronounce
set alongside your rice paper eyes