Pulsing a tide against shore
foaming water, mouths, the mad doll-eyes of gulls
their ecstatic croaks.
The wind rims deserts in my eyes.
I used to be afraid of dying here.
Where do you go?
A slippery swimmer exploring
seas too deep for him to fathom;
a shore bruised
by the hips of the waves;
He was— we were— looking for treasure here.
I see the dazzling rainbow of gray
I smell salt; I smell laundry detergent.
Your mother is on the bed stand;
my mouth devolves into a whirlpool
of a grin.
afterwards I am nothing but the neck
encircled by a necklace made of thistles,
of goose down, of fingers, of glass.
afterwards I am nothing but half woman,
half fish, sexless
flopping dyingly about each whim of every wave;
we descend into the still of blooming tide pools,
stagnant waters.
(2009)
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