Water Lily

For all almanacs and operations
Where there exists a you—

Let x equal water lily.
The period takes a stand
in the wet sand
that the whole equation
rests on: a respite, a spit of
variable splash on the
ocean’s unwavering black.

Let water lily be
the foundation of
a sandcastle:
the muddied hands
scraping the fleshy strands
with the names of beloveds—
and their ampersands.

Let you be x.
On different days talking
with some sine
or other integral,
you and the variables
tend to change outfits:
today you were dancing; now you’re asleep.
But x is still x with its clothes off.

Let’s tumble towards the waves.
The periods and premises
we washed away will wallop
the water’s hem, the horizon.