water rolls like silk thunder and
lightning whispering across the surface with
the current, electric, keeping
time like a heart monitor. and my heart
chambers fill as i go over the crest, empty
themselves out in the trough. my ears are
underwater so i can only hear the warm
murmur of summer, the echoes of
the ocean singing a thousand or so
leagues below, notes billowing out
of the earth as pillow lava cooling slowly. i can
see the sky above me reflecting
the blue of the gulf. i am somewhere between
the cerulean scooped-out from the shore where
it meets the pale sandbar and the prussian when
the continental shelf slopes away and
sharks reign. i can't tell which direction
i'm drifting and i don't mind. i am a sundial divining
how the hours pass in heaven, waiting
to begin to sink, submerge
myself in quiet mesmerizing enough to cradle me while
my bones unhinge and fall apart. but now
i am only half-way through
the looking glass and i cannot reach
the pill to make me small again. so i close
my eyes to contemplate the bright blemishes on
their darkness and try to remember
the lullaby lingering in my fingertips; it tastes
like sea salt and cirrus clouds.