I expect to think of skeletons and blue violets.
I expect my reflections to lead me to a point of remembering.
Nothing of the sea. I tell myself
nothing of the sea.
And then: antidotes.
The sound of melancholy and catharsis.
Rain on the roof.
From what I understand it’s where bodies of dead dogs wash up on the shore.
From what I understand it’s a place for forgetting.
The security is catharsis,
The security is seclusion in an orange jacket.