These encounters, these pleas–
such misinformed stalks vitiate
me: a keel-hauling through a body
whose waters burn with bromine.
You will discover my moorings
clean from fasting, from strict ashes;
I stiffen for your bind. Filter me down,
again, to an edifice for your era.
Oh stranger, you cobbled me your disciple,
confounded all my discipline.
Is it fortunate to be light, thinly
stamped? My distress is your atlas
and confluence for a gaunt sale.