She carries suspicions about the dark ocean waves, the intended meanings
                of their slosh and tackle,
the way they fold and unfold themselves         and mop up the moon's kindred gravity.

She's never been given an explanation for this, only heresay and conjecture.
Still, it is her favorite thing to do         to go down to the pier and speculate.

She renounces any expertise, sending her incorrect sentimentality into the waves.
She is the back of a playing card, the side that represents mystery, anonymity.

                          The one without a face.