A love letter to my old man friend

Every once in a while I got to a sensory deprivation float tank. It has amounts of espon salts so high that you're loosed from gravity and float freely in the water. You can also choose — which I do — to be in complete silence and darkness. The session lasts about 60 minutes.

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During these sessions I seem receive about two or three totally arbitrary but very poignant "messages" (let's call them), which I've learned not to question and just do.

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There's been a wide varity of "messages" (send whole walnuts to an long-lost aquaintance in London, for example, and I did), and one of these was to write a poem / love letter to my old man friend.

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I've had old man friends my whole life, for which I am very greatful, and this particular old man friend is a seaweed forager and body worker in rural Maine. He calls me Heron; I can him BB Blue.
 

Proposing new perspectives on love.​

The poem was published in the September 2023 issue of the Chronogram magazine in New York.

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