Leaning into the afternoons I cast my sad nets towards your oceanic eyes.

There in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames, its arms turning like a drowning man's.

I send out red signals across your absent eyes that smell like the sea or the beach by a lighthouse.

You keep only darkness, my distant female, from your regard sometimes the coast of dread emerges.

Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad nets to that sea that is thrashed by your oceanic eyes.

The birds of night peck at the first stars that flash like my soul when I love you.

The night gallops on its shadowy mare shedding blue tassels over the land.