hear these minor tones, dissonant echoes, nocturnal murmurs
whisper of hellhound behind, tremble sound haunting hollow
taste of revenant ash in throat, beneath each note this velvet
dissonance—
here where sea pushes into land: roaring liquid love, thunder
crashing at the lip of the last wave—and the next.
where Pollock pours black enamel over raw canvas, painting
like a man already buried. Here is love freed from time.
here are the rites of the bull cults, the fetid silence
of hardened blood, evicted angel beating one wing
over trembled flame—
no longer showing but shown through.
no longer singing, but sung into—
by jagged notes, passing through
the charmed demon winding sand
ripping the sails that carried you
and when the sails are gone––
all sea
all sound.
