One would expect to flee this grey carapace
whose high window opens to emptiness.
Far out, below the sea, when I am dreaming
I see us in its whirling.
Filled with disembodied desire we swim among
My shiver of eyes search for what we were
in dark murals where my mind is your confessional and no sin is grave enough
I am what remains and when I look at me,
I see right through us.