-After Edmund Husserl
I know 4PM tides, rotting foundations
a priori, lighthouses as lucid moments, shortened
hypnogogic hallucinations, limbs
mustered in waves, allegro movements,
a sudden heave, suspension – caesura
//
The seagulls push inland in search
of food, of fish, a bite to eat, garbage
cans turned on their side in the wind,
of salt, of static green-yellow foam, churning
water – a reduction
//
I’ve reached an epoché,
my suspended body
floats head-up in the brownish waves,
Atlantic shores of Delaware, the hard coastlines
where the Lenni Lenape
first caught a glimpse of sails
//
It is an entry point, to be thrown
rotting foundations a priori,
to be reduced to the coarse sand
and seagulls, gill-bearing decomposition,
the swarms flocking lighthouses, which trace
themselves in circles against the afternoon air
