Speaking Indigo

I.

I set out that day unto the ocean's rolling dunes,
spellbound and still blind. The beguiling eyes of Eris
flickered with interest, ubiquitous and all-knowing.
Silent, the constellations revealed nothing. I left
my astrolabe buried in the sand.

Only the waves spoke in colors to me,
with every drop and glint of semi-precious
sediment from their sunless depths.

II.

Alone,
I speak only truth in indigo,
whilst my salted wounds bear false witness,
expressing the ache in a foreign tongue.

Time passes, with every wayward step and sigh,
each breath of frail atmosphere exhaled and lost with the western wind.

III.

The dimmer dusk grew, the more was revealed.
My faltering footsteps fell underneath the surface
and my breath was taken away.

Ripped forth by the tide from a
gaping, gasping jaw, pebbles spilled forth
into the silt and sand.

The rubies I lost beneath the waves and the
lazuli tangled in stretches of seaweed.

Night's inky spirals take hold and push into the waves,
curling along with the undertow.

IV.

I emerge, eyelids encrusted with salt, shrieking
for something profound.

But the gods and fish leave me be, with black seaweed
around my wrists,
and tasteless grit upon my tongue.

Author's note: Inspired by lightness and weight's "i will be a story."