The sun gave our shoulder blades ulu-shaped burns, and the sun gives nothing to our sort

I sleep now, and furiously

Clouds excreted shadows on the shoreline, and there were no clouds

His body a train ride away, and nearby

There are organs I have never used before, and they are pale from overuse

The sand had turned to pearls in our folds, and that kind of sand does not turn to pearls

Then the carbon in our dirts to unthinkable diamonds, and those were the wrong kinds of dirts

He occupied the wharf, and I occupied him, and I did not occupy the wharf

Come adhered to bellies like white wounds, and sloughed off like stormwater

I spoke first, and I have not yet spoken

He is moving away from the beach now, and he is absolutely still

We shared a heat, and had no heat to share

I am made of water, and he is made of water, and without effort we breathe

Bibliographical info

Ben Ladouceur, “Tractatus” from Otter. Copyright © 2015 by Ben Ladouceur. Reprinted by permission of Coach House Press.

Source: Otter (Coach House Press, 2015)

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