Looking eastward from Tablerock
I realize how the darkness
that follows the sun from the east
is but the shadow
of a mountain reaching out from the west. 
How interesting that our perceptions 
change with position —
like those moments we fly backwards 
into the source,
and see darkness falling
away from the self.
The rising, falling
into the self,
remains of lovers at sea,
this hollow tooth
we mistake for gold.
The blossomed cross, the mahogany 
vessel, the wake
of carnations in our lungs, all 
drowning when we open
our lips and chests
to those we love.