sonnet one looks like the sea
somewhere between Perth & Sydney, tracing dotted
trajectories, we check the time & i lean oh/
ver. you disappear from text. the silent window
bleeds light like faux-tragedy; warmth forms plotted
currents of fish distribution & other thoughts
at ever-rest height. inward & outside. i don’t know
what to make of the confusion. clouds make arrows,
xy symbols coalescing & breaking up fraught
with context bubbles. we had broken gravity,
felt cylindrical casing, structurally other,
somehow unable to split textures & colours.
once, Melbourne was a dawn foghorn, a parody
of distances dissolving exhaustively.
eventually everything looks like the sea.