The night walks over the water,
Its heels are touched by fish fin flashes.
Wet with dark water, night's bare feet
Walks over my chest. Night's wet hands
Knocks on the door of my chest..
The lips of my chest kiss the knocking hands,
But my chest's brain has listened too long to people.
My chest is afraid to open the door.
My chest won't open the door.
-- Duane Locke