in the tidal basin of lumens.
high tide at noon,
low tide at new noon night.
otherwise the rise and the fall,
the surge and the sweep,
what creatures born out of the beach?
projecting as grains of sand
and die in the liquid deep beyond.
dematerialized from the pounding,
the constancy of consciousness as wetness,
the sun glaring in the temperaments of weather.
and the darkness of night,
as a peep show of distance dark skies revealed.
so busy, lost in the density of selfness.
light such a liquid to be bathing in.
enough to dedicate one sense directly in its honor.
so if blind, do we change to another sensory religion?
I so take heat to be the breath of the sun.
lumens are so temperamental that way.
heavens must be the surf we live to see.
fooled by the hearsay of oxygen's ever prodding.
I am a fisherman of life.
I go about my day experiencing a lumen tan.
honoring that which passes,
as nature's story, ever told . . .
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