every rose has its fins

in my dream we
sat on a sea boulder
eating dragon-fried
rice and asking the
kind of questions whose
answers are only written over
time no words just a twitch
of cheek-under-glance an
involuntary wondering
of will you touch my secret
face that way will
there be hope will
even the sharks swim a
murmuration is it really
possible that this edge is
the center of something
else and that all the salt-scored
water rushing across the
earth isn’t going
anywhere is already
home where it belongs