Black pearls washed ashore,
runes carved in driftwood
from an island without trees,
pins on a map, epicenter
of a mythical nowhere,
solar tears whence the sky
drinks the sea dry.
Words about words,
tempt to paint a lash
in Mayan blue, no rhyme,
a wake so dark, a fall so deep,
awake or dreaming
lost in fog, a reality,
in questions of time spent.
Spitting out cupfulls of bile,
black lung haunted by fear,
look into the rising sun,
beyond shivering green,
a wordless answer lurks
where white whales spurt
and the moon drowns.