The sea recedes before the second flood, sucked up into the horizon. Here fish are stranded, searching a dull expanse like eyes to a blank page. It’s pleasant though, for me at least, wading through windows and wrinkles to rest at the shoreline. The calm before the second flood. Take a while to watch the sun stay in place; turn back pages and you can watch it wind up again. Let the day linger a little longer. Let the ink settle. Don’t think about the second flood—it can be distracting. I can distract you. I can stop time with rhyme. I can use form, and meter, and tricolons. Or I can stop pretending. I know fish need water. I know suns have to wind down eventually. This second flood is only devastating for me. For me it marks an end. For you, an end to a dull expanse. An end to a blank page. Turn the page.