Prologue

The sea forgot its waves,
so it lent them to your face.
Calm ink, calm breath —
you exist between hush and hue.

Body I

Law one: Blue listens better than any god.
Law two: Lines are only boundaries if you believe them.
Law three: Every snout contains an ocean in miniature.

I float through this drawing,
weightless, watercolor-hearted.
My outline hums like a distant shell.
I speak in bubbles:
oink, blink, sink, think.

Body II

Graphite murmurs: “Stay still.”
Turquoise replies: “But stillness swims.”
The page begins to breathe —
both are right, both dissolve.

DADA Break

plouf–oink–inktide
aqua qua qua

Closing

Silence glows beneath the skin of color.
I drift away, half-wave, half-pigment.
Tomorrow: another tide, another snout.