Is Not My Land

All names are forced on things, yes?
I don’t know. All names are forced,

But things have their own free ways
That get lost in terms for dust,

And, once we can see, the names
Lead one way, while the things named

Aren’t things at all, just long paths
That sink in the waves. Have fun

With your names, waves seem to wink,
And then we, the names, too,

Are waves, too, that wink, sly things.
That’s all these names have to say—

With smiles from bright waves—you play
This hand. Waves are not like land.