Murmur receding and approaching,
wanting to touch, encircle
your calves.

Can water ever be sure
of its direction?

the sea inside, wanting
to get out: one thirst
seeking another.

I crack
the hull of a fortune
cookie open to ponder

what of the future
settles at the bottom
of the cup.


In response to Via Negativa: Celestial Directions.

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