Moon and stars
carved in on an island

washed away
by the morning tide

drawn towards 
the endless; 

imagination of a writer in the sun

What might have been last night, 
my dear,
while christ had let us sleep?

All described in mindless nescience
focused on the law of the science
of nature

It is a shame
that what you see

is only what
we know

trace your cheek
along that little

let it hang you up upon the cross above

let it scratch your lips
til you bleed the truth
that only the waves, who took it
know what was there before you.