II
And the dream of the shell is the pearl!
I could have been a pauper
instead I was a king
the echo of the sea
was the only music I listened to
that year as the boats
sailed to destinations they would not take me to
turbulence moved in the air
but what its cause was I could not say
(the self, you understand,
is not privy to everything)
no more than I could say
what was beautiful and what was not
seeking by hints and omissions
to understand and latch onto
the echo of the sea
in a shell, in my ear,
listening
for hints of knowledge
the self was composed of
and susceptible to
dreaming of the shell
dreaming the pearl
that interlude
between the waves
as I watched the waves
and looked for a boatman
