Remembering is fundamentally recursive:
Each body of water a womb, each body
of water a body; each body loved a watery font
of want. I knew a man who knew a man
who loved me, he was a teary type, one who would tear
at his own eyes when frightened. I had a torn shortage,
one that was shorn from the shore of a stormy sea —
This need was as salty as the man who was known by the man
who bottled his sockets against the rain. The man known
by the can-eyed crier was what we could call a lover,
this is to say he had loved while my tides turned.
This is to say he raked the fields of salt
that would have been my sea had I the gift
to covet certainty.