Beached
i am a manatee.

i am grey—a matte color, strung
back, infinitely, with the ocean:
wove into the backdrop. swim
through the breezy blues of
lagoons (running shallow, running
deep) to the shore; i am
graceful in my own fashion—
gentle, you could say.

or you could say:

i am dull-colored. whiskering
along the way (i should have
had a siren song: so their bright
blue eyes say). paddling, there
i go, so slowly through the lightly
dusted water.

dart like a raindrop through
water; they are the shimmer in
waves' tuck. dip: into blown-by-
the-tide sleek, into scrubbed
perfection wet, their blushes
work to the surface. polished pink
smiles—frothy as the foam, little
whispers of satin slip through.

i am not one of them, the butter
fly people: flutter lashes, flutter
tails, flutter tongues with lathered
talk (so as not to soil their shined
lips). but while they cling to the
shore, i will dive into the deep.

those who follow can find me.