Darker Than You

There is lineage & there is volume
& the hollow sound of the parking lot
reflectingly damp
might pry the turquoise from your gaze
launching tears into the waves
ringing
like a Mexican alarm clock

That’s just how the Grecian urn crumbles
& I spend the rest of my life in a Polynesian igloo
on Beach Hill, studying
The Obliteration of the Self
As Evidenced in Wittgenstein’s
Surf Almanac
              (a zen masterpiece
                              for windchime & pavement saw)

& although I have no idea what time it is
late & early
              the orange girl in the sea-mist bikini
gathers kelp blossoms
                              somewhere beyond the reef

where I would love to take you some day
but there has to be a reason
each stares down through the other
looking for a way back