Activity

The angels of the proscenium

tapped out in contrapuntal rhythms

Not out of English prosody but the fluids of organism

Melville knew the sea, its poising and somnambulism

All along her edges, just where she turned to another state. Tidepools full of slow blinks and bubbles and little waving fronds. The self, but more, like a sponge. But thirsty.