No, the title doesn’t refer to my clearly porous and pockmarked skin.
It may have more to do with the crowd of voices within clamoring to be heard.
But instead of the cacophony resulting in a senseless din, they rise like winds clearing the clouds.
The sea, the sea, the sea: in all the ocean’s calm is the violence of purpose.
I count my days like a devotee fingers the beads of holy mysteries: though everything catches up, everybody ends and begins at the very start.