Each wave destroys the next, even the wavelets. What desire drives them? And are we like this, destroying ourselves? The waves, reflecting and fracturing a desireless sky. Nothing about that sky is blue. It’s just the blackness of space seen slant. Void and vacuum. Blackness unto blackness. Stars and star-factories. It’s strange to think of all that light pouring down on us unnoticed. They say it’s from the past, but we rush to meet it, and each touch is the present. I hold up my hand. It is broad day, but a star-photon makes it through and touches my palm. So little changes. Or: such small changes. Like a neutrino smashing a coil of DNA: an intimate, undetectable destruction. I am restless. Anchored to a boulder like seaweed rocking in the currents. I am petulant. I am repentant. I am flinging myself on the shore. I am momentary. I want something. I am the tide coming in. I am wind-driven. All of this wanting is the wanting of the past, rushing in to destroy the present. The hammer and anvil of it. The sand and water of it. The fire and paper of it.

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