in the morning ,

in the light out of the sea to the east ,

of two lips around on my (open) eye i know ,

the clearest visions

of her inside (outside) mind .

in the morning ,

by the sea at massachusetts , resting in skin to the left

of against her , under

after a storm’s

absent sky , knowing of the reconstitution

of air , which , by simple being ,

i had displaced .

everything is just

an indentation in the air ; and nothing

that is ,

is abstract (or bare) ,

or can be said to have never been there.

in eye visions ,

my skin under against warm her , after under

the wind and the rain of it ,

rudimentary i , a man ,

walk upright by the edge .

i drink the sea water from a wooden bowl

and plunge to rinse in the same water ;

and name the thickset fish in the same water ;

and name the foaming horse who stumbles into the water

and the katydids and bees in this horse’s fur ;

a man , i fall asleep in the mornings

under after an emptied sky ,

a young gull ( who i shall think of as i ) ,

thrown backwards and backwards by the firm current ,

the motion outwards of breath .

in eye visions ,

i compell my density to indent the not air but sand ,

am ( myself ) equally impressed by it and ingest

all the living portions .

i have this feeling that i am expanding

and feeling , that my breast expands, that my tongue

assumes the topography of the land :

this, the immediate sense that the world is full

and dense .

( i , now , bone

hung on this thin frame mere ,

by skin ( or mother , or organ fruit ,

I , not but the sum of this year ,

inhale whither , stride , exhale whence . )

sometimes , in the mornings , when she is asleep still and tense ,

i wake . i rise stand

on this cliff , and behold

the cold salt air of the Atlantic seen ,

the fishermen starting out with harpoons ,

in their skiffs ,

inhale the rinse ;

and gather this sense

of the slide towards me

of it in tectonic manner , and the reside ,

as ebbs and flows the world of all matter

( and so this spirit of my ) .

the ground i know to be a rock and sand .

( she is asleep in this sand . )

sometimes bend i and touch it with the finger

of my left hand , and feel

the hardness of it ,

contact . c o n v u l sed ,

the shade of i is convulsed into the shades

of the multiplying horizon .

seize i on

wet two cranberries between stones

in the sand , buried , ( her index in my skin

after her hand ) ; will one i eat and one i left

to balance the heavy other .

return : i have the feeling

of sand on my tongue and lips ,

the purple sweetness

in my hair and hair ,

among itself on my stomach ,

and the head of my

haloed by katydids and bees ,

another halo hanging ( holding ) over my stomach ;

under against my back , at the small

of it , where the spine falls off

to the sea ,

i feel the same stone i touched .

i feel it ingress and the ingress of what is hard .

i feel the ingress of my skin . i feel

at my back

not a thing .

this hardness

will , like air , pass through , and vanish , and return ,

( i feel

the air still coming in and passing through ) ,

the stone and the water and the line , the indentations

of this world

through the skin into itself .

no hardness will be able to contact my inside skin

or preside .

i see her asleep on her side , in skin ,

holding herself , contracted ,

seized from without by something

else and cold .

i have this sense of the feeling of her

before i woke , of the scarps of the inside of her

and the grass ; of sleep leaving

with all of my things and all of my thoughts ;

and of all this as well:

that the dreams of i i have inside

take air

that the shapes of the dreams of i

take form and shape

in the air

that the air in the eye

alive , ( the eye to the lip

agape , ) being the air

through the lip exhaled ,

is the air of every form ,

and is thus all

the air that is

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