"So I am a watcher now. And she a perfect form. She is gold, hot pouring gold pouring down into the sea. And she moves with the grace of a dolphin. As though there are no angles, only curves, arcs, circles. About this I can write a poem. And show it to no one. About the magic light, the cut water, the riven ridden wave. This impossible sea creature, who comes and goes. Through the water, through the sun. Changing shape, changing, but no closer than art. So the poem is about the idea, and the idea is mine. Even in the empty sea."