Population

Like a flat sea,

Here is where we are, the empty reaches

Empty of ourselves

Where dark, light, sound

Shatter the mind born

Alone to ocean

Save we are

A crowd, a population, those

Born, those not yet dead, the moments

Populace, sea-borne and violent, finding

Incredibly under the sense the rough deck

Inhabited, and what it always was.

THE HILLS

That this is I,

Not mine, which wakes

To where the present

Sun pours in the present, to the air perhaps

Of love and of

Conviction.

As to know

Who we shall be. I knew it then.