Leaning Into The Afternoons

Leaning into the afternoons I cast my sad nets

towards your oceanic eyes.

There in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames,

its arms turning like a drowning mans.

I send out red signals across your absent eyes

that smell like the sea or the beach by a lighthouse.

You keep only darkness, my distant female,

from your regard sometimes the coast of dread emerges.

Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad nets

to that sea that is thrashed by your oceanic eyes.

The birds of night peck at the first stars

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