Intricate Bay

In the secret society
Of the genus hiding species
Of no, not, and non, the shoreline

Of belonging’s impossible
To navigate or specify
In metrics with finite units

Or even in infinite sets.
Row, row, row your boat, you’ll never
Enter the open lake, shining

Disk of nullity, past the rocks
And sweeper-strewn marshy reaches
Of nothing much and nothing yet.

The eagles are in the hemlocks
While the brown bears forage or fish.
Mosquitoes whine. The cloud lights dance,

And it’s warmish, and you sit with
Your metaphysical paddle
Thinking, there’s no way out of this.