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.