The Historian’s Shadow
In questions of history I am caught between the confluence of two seas. I am measuring the height of their shadows with an inch-tape. I am wondering about integrity. I would like to kiss your nose. Soon enough, I am standing on the edge of the water at night. I am counting: my plum-dark nipples, the carnivorous fish washing up onto the city, their luminous teeth, a hundred, thousand droplets like the silver edge of the sea.