Sargasso Sea

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Ezra told me, “Yet this is you”
the portrait of a lady
He peered through the dark
blue window
entering the spoil of the spongy
grey
Looked around the living quarters
and saw the empty whole and all
of disappointments or
mediocrity
ajar in some corner
storing dust motes where they
land
In which nothing collected or given
is owned
He shook his head
called me Sargasso Sea
not certain if he believed
me mysterious
or thought my head
and my hair
were reminiscent of seaweed.

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