Let me feel the faith of hermit crabs waiting for the tide’s return.  

Let me be renewed by a fisherman walking to the surf near sunrise.

Each day.  Each morning.

 

To the voice chirping, “You are not enough,” I sing in kind,

 

“You may be excused.”

 

Because of the shape you make with your mouth.

The uncertainty in this body.

A ribbon of blood

Between thumb and flesh.

Because water carries the weight of days

Until I am full of worry and wonder.

 

We fumble with powder blue sunsets

We dive to a cooler layer where augers live.

 

You follow the curve of a ponderous arch.

To the brittle home of sand dollars.

The certainty of a shark eye on my tongue.

 

This is not a love poem or a death poem.

This is not a poem. This poem is a fish. A bird.

 

Let me break the gulf open with these ashes.

Let me know the rhythm of sargassum.

Each day.  Each morning.

These bodies in motion.

Aflame.