2. i am a dot, in your paragraph ... i am a dot, in your paragraph; no, in your novel, a lengthy lyric that sings on without me. recite again, please, the chapter of your confusion, of the watery waves in your drowned hair in a midnight of new moon. if only i might hear the crash and lull of the rhythms of your voice. i am an erratic seagull without your bottled notes, bobbing in a cadence and blown distant by rising winds while struggling to fly towards your gentle crests and troughs. if you would storytell again, i would wait at bedtime ... but the walls are as silent as your sunken treasures. so, i will sing quietly my own story: seagulls do not cry, being made of water.