the silt in the air is white and unafraid.
while the scars on the sand are washed away
i think drowning would be like being anointed;
you'd lose sight of the tearstained clouds
and i'd like to escape, i think
but then the tide comes in again, and i can't think at all
the undertows insist that i stay with them for a little while longer
until the tide comes in again - so they won't be lonely
and who am i to refuse?
in the clear water, i can almost see how empty the sky is
until the lace of the waves covers its secret again
and i am left to question when the tide will come in again
in the quiet, silent, stupid night
and perpetual shores;
in this basin of ocean water
where i know nothing but that the tide will
always
come in again
my voice is drowned out by the screaming of the tides
as i claw my way back from sisterhood -
this jagged planetarium
-
i have long since realized that my love has become something unnatural -
something bone-lit and dredged from the depths of the ocean,
twisted in coarse fishing nets
meant to make thrashing, helpless creatures out of us
tonight, the moon is full and the nets are full.
they drag through the sand on the shore in awkward, silted motions
escaping the tide, who has come in again
tears of oceans/ oceans of tears
as a break in the surface of the water
tells me that the tide
has come in
again
