The Skin's Blueish Tattoo

Encased in a chemical suit
sees himself as part of the sea, like everything on land, he's returning
pets the dog, levels the field.
Moving with waves.

And the endless necessity of morse code
gasps through the water as one might call falling.
And for every one stroke out
two needed returns.

... on reading a brodsky poem having come back from a place where only Schopenhauer's primordial oneness might dwell...

A man in a moth-eaten suit
sees a train off, heading, like everything here, for the sea,
smiles at his daughter, leaving for the East.
A whistle blows.

And the endless sky over the tiles
grows bluer as swelling birdsong fills.
And the clearer the song is heard,
the smaller the bird.

--Joseph Brodsky