soaked

For Richard Tipping

Inhabiting this
     art

we're not seated
     on a carved chair
     regarding
     through glass

the sharked
     polluted
     eternal
     ocean—

We're the flensing edge
     of any of a hundred
     newly risen
     teeth

We're the cornea
     of a boy bodysurfing
     beside an
     outlet pipe

We're a blackened plank
     floating around soaked
     A message
     without a bottle