The lines in the sand,

Fishes: Nature’s own scribbler;

Take bait from the hand,

We love, then deliver. 

The foam on the surface, rises through limbs.

Takes from the furnace, the heat from the skin.

I reach into the belly, I pluck a fisted coil.

Within all nature's medleys, I take it for my spoils. 

I covet all that’s shelled, plains of wilder climate—

Who is here to tell? That I am nature’s pirate.

All I breathe, I seek to agitate.

On my skin, I let nature annotate.

The sun fills the space, fissures through cotton.

I think, this is fate, however misgotten.

Through the tangerine, I pledge to remember,

What never before, I’ve lived in December.

Hear the jovial cries with me!

Loud, entranced, frenetic—

The sun warmed philosophies,

Show love to what’s genetic.