Black ink and sunbeams poetry

Falling down,

cartographer to my heart,

twice afflicted, comb the silt-flats,

deviations of despair as

before keep your confidence

perhaps when

impressions of solitude settle

like a star unmoored

and the wellspring of sorrow

swimming behind your eyes dries

alongside the Pacific,

you will find a glimmer of peace,

like gold, upon the

seabed