where has this sudden arrangement of wallflowers sprung from?
our lips hardly equipped for explanation-
-we ride the high-tide of foamy green seas,
the alibi saws our vocal cords like the abrasive salt.

the sun rises first
for you,
over the eastern half of the dunes,
and settles
on my western front.
whose eyes embrace more light?
we are nothing to one another but mere questions.
will we reach,
or only chase,
our dream to answer?