blind as a nose of lung, we hate noise,
suffer emotion. Outside,
the dumb noise of spray: every blue and hump
sperming down to Far Tortuga, oceans of breach
untouched. Light is a blowhole wetting us.
Why not go deep, perhaps a fathom or two?
Conceal from me a harsh timidity. Bubble up
to baleen the algae of sky between the horns
of my thumb and forefinger. Your sea-self opens,
floppy as a body empty of bone,
every swim by Miami a shell-song and oh-yah.