Filmic, I thought
of my own silhouette.
To be urgent with silt,
whose origin is feldspar.
Under white cloth, your frantic hand.
If grasses would anyway tremble.
If a shoreline we’d never deserve.
In a photo another man took,
intimists | in mists.
(Here, I want to leave a damselfly,
forgotten—). A room
of dodged perfume.