off the shore of oneself as in…
sometimes you can’t stay on your own mainland.
some story of exile, unique each time: a home
you feel apart from rather than of
the re-negotiation among space and rulership.
an aimless god, his insistence on
a fantasy of order
the number you call to confirm the time, that tells you
where to go by putting you there—horizon beyond
the heart you know best—so it hurts, so you learn.
the aimless god in you, his lucite throne,
the space you’ve made, what you could
imagine from whence you came