An axis of many lights. The three on the base.
Turning inward to base and then up -- halfway
to the line and then three more. The sadness
of the ocean surrounds the rectangles on its
face. The spilling of air upward and out of it --
the jailing of a liquid. The only escape, light,
through solids cannot take a passenger. Unapproachable
at right angles. While existing for and because
of wrists. A feverish doubling of the background.
Springing forward from its particles. Once in millions.
Whose millions were in millions. Now temporarily
situated -- to be returned to its millions.
And to relinquish.