Is[n't] it t[rue? "It is as though the dark were resolving him out of his integrity, into an unrelated scattering of components--snuffings and stampings; smells of cooling flesh and ammoniac hair; an illusion of a co-ordinated whole of splotched hide and strong bones within which, detached and secret and familiar, an is different from my is."

There is no ripple but the blink of a phosphene

five mirages grace closing horizons

even as the sun vanishes and the ocean grows black,
sightless
they are there