my passionate infinity:
the harpoon's eye
the threads of rope, run parrallel, untwining
like the spires of sight i find
in the height of the sky, in the knot
of an iris, sphinctral, contracted,
then dilated, swallowing mine.

and through the strobing of fluttering lashes
lashes shuttering like a camera on motor drive
you saw the sun and thought how history is
this little aperture we get onto the universe:
a little span, the wink of a little eye
that is gone - its duration diminished
in the eyeless sea of time.

and your amoeba heart will swallow mine.

The ship tolls, leaning from one side to the other, pointing to the North-East sky then the cloudy South-West then pointing North-East again, and so on. Eyes shut tight, on her back, on the deck, she feels her life toll. She is the ringer in a bell that is rung for no reason. She feels the sun’s warmth resonate on her skin. Breathing in the resounding smell of the sea—the smell of travel, history, endless horizons and blood. In her belly, a rolling like the swell and coil of cramps: her stomach turns, and turns, sickening, and she lets the warm seasick sensation spread through her like pleasure, lets it take possession of her limbs, breathes deeply, offers no resistance. She is seasick in the swaying bell of life, inside the toll of the knell, the rock and roll of her invisible existence. To be lost, to find oneself all at sea: that is modernity.