All distortion knows is what it loves to bury. All I love is wrecked and harried, lost to better tongues than mine. When you lose me, send clouds over the desert and bacteria under the sea—in the wake of how many setting suns, it’s reassuring to stray near the off frequencies. Solar winds, auroras, inventions that were cast away: a litany I sling to turn the tide backward. My good side’s the cloud of doves, the translated glove I slip through the door, a stitch I use to disguise the heart in my heart. Find me descending, hull burnt black against the sky. You will think contact but see static, see fire but know disguise. And when I meet the ocean and send up a pillar of steam, imagine me a smoke screen.