Hope Your curiosity didn’t spark a storm
that you now can’t control the words too
The ones that you refrain from using
the scribbled notes flying
As that mind eyes down at low tide.
the one you imagined trawling nets along the banks
That you refill with crosswords falling from holes in
ships carcuses that may refloat but remain submerged
Under the stranglehold of the sands on its worn hull
the identity flaking and peeling away.