I wanted it to keep raining. the sea was calm, and she was urging me
to get wet.
Now, you know my style,
if I don't feel it... I don't fake it
You never wrote me back, unless
you consider that very general thing you said in your email
but I won't read between that emptiness
because the sea
is still calling
me to
FEEL ALIVE
I feel like improvising
so I went out
in everything I owned
hoping that finally
the world
would
lift it from me
with one shocking soaking
and I would return
naked
as I always intended
it was just too much, to do it alone
writing to You, Beloved
has been my salvation
these little words, like seeds from a good and crucial fruit
seeds arranged to reflect
my constant groping with the question
though I,
Beloved,
have already eaten the moist and ripe, beautiful fruit
ahhh. indigestion...
my love,
the sea, laps at my confusion, indifference, my design on temptation
the sea
laps and laps and laps
and
I must go in
I must devour
all these cloaks
and let the rains remove
the dozen masks I seem redundantly settled in
the sea must make me naked
the rain
must ruin
all I have collected
and then
now
when all has washed away
one little word
"stop"
will cave me in
beloved
I must write you this, in the sand
for even the trees have stopped giving their paper for my words
even the pen
has turned herself over
to the omen
of God
I Love You
Your Beloved
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