Littoral Drift

The sight of blue and finally! The whoosh
of van door releases us—exuberant disarray of bodies whooping,
stripping, approaching first in adoration, then flailing.
A final plunge and sudden gasping until, at last, waves swallow us whole.

The day cycles and erodes like a tumbler for gemstones
with gritty scrubbing, gleeful shrieks, heaving down,
shoulders polished raw. Our skins glisten with fair colors like
carbuncles, agates, rubies, all pleasant stones.

Next seeking. For what?—anything, everything and finding it
in the holes of rocks. Anemones, crabs, the sweeping arms of a starfish, and

a ferocious mosaic of open mouths, feathered mandibles touching,
tasting, devouring—this is my body.
Seething plankton, microscopic beasts that teem in the current, multiply,
guzzle oceans—this is my blood.

Now evening and I convalesce, leaving behind a million rotting mollusks.
In the back seat, I am cramped, beached, folded up
like a hermit crab grown too large for home,
with a brain that bangs, claws, scuttles into next.

No comments:

Post a Comment