[She goes, she is, she wakes the waters]

She goes, she is, she wakes the waters primed in their wave-form, a flux of urge struck into oneness, the solid surge seeking completion, and strikes and shatters and is its fragments, distinction’s daughters and now, unholding, the cleave and merge the hew and fusing, plundering the verge and substance is the scheme it scatters and what it numbers in substantial sun. Her hands hold many or her hands hold none. And diving the salt will kiss a convex eye and be salt fact and be the bodied sky and that gray weight is both or beggared one, a dead dimensional, or blue begun.