We Are Waves

Obsidian rhythm, can’t
make up his mind–
Receding and advancing

down, or away from
absolution–Stars thrown
like paper planes

fall into a channel
in Baja, the same pirate
cove that’s taken light

and kept it hidden
for years… His chest
a cave not worth

exploring. We need
to take our time
examining convex

signs, search for any
omen, beware
of softened pits…

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