in between what is and what ought to be i float on the Sargasso Sea listening with Van Gogh’s ear to thoughts too deep for tears. i ask Her: who am I? to seek the dying gods, to breathe another’s breath, to be the dew, the fallen leaf, a footprint in the sand washed by the sea. She whispers: gently sleep, close your eyes — you will never be old to me. love flows from my river. you will always be he lays down his sword, walks past the Maiden, back into the mouth of the dragon