in the exact middle of the endangered night
I feel the waves filled with sunshine
eight thousand miles under my bed,
above the Ob’ Trench near the Broken Ridge.
The shadowless waves disappear from above,
and every green wave figures itself a
stationary observer surrounded by harmonic
madness, by neighbors that rise and plummet,
rise and plummet, while they calm and constant
remain themselves, filled with sunshine
eight thousand miles above my bed
where I sleep on my back, in a dark dry room.
.
bioxoid 
envy.