Our world goes nowhere except its own elsewhere

What kind of sentence is that? 

No one is responding, but everyone is vibrating with address

All of us stationed before the same absence

Like glass sheets; we see right through us to the air

Real life is Elsewhere

It is right Here

The bald child 

Is a failed clairvoyant

But he can peer through walls to teeth and other things: soap

Mathias kisses Lucy’s Head

Someone shoots my book, shoots it straight through

I allow a relation 

Between addiction and adore

Where does the sea end and the sky begin?

We sink in blue for which there is no word.

Two sails, fog-coloured, loiter on the thin

Mirage of ocean.

There is no sound of wind, nor wave, nor bird,

Nor any motion.

Except the shifting mists that turn and lift,

Showing behind the two limp sails a third,

Then blotting it again.

A gust, a spattering of rain,

The lazy water breaks in nervous rings.

Somewhere a bleak bell buoy sings,

Muffled at first, then clear,

Its wet, grey monotone.

The dead are here.

We are not quite alone.