I've become liquid, sand dancing
swirling through me
current racing
down my back, through
the length of my spine, flowing
vertebrae to vertebrae
waves stringing my bones together;
I stretch shore to shore
every square inch of skin
settling on the sand, draping
over rocks, coral, galleons lost long ago;
the naked front of my watery body
exposed to the sky, rippled
by rain, swirled
by wind, speckled
by sun.
Cargo steamers, cabin cruisers, Catalinas
gliding down my thighs
between my breasts
harboring in my elbow's still crook
racing around my fingers
skipping over my toes' wake
turning course in my collar bone's dip,
weathered men in slick rubber
setting traps, rickety wood
lowered into the hollow of my shoulder
swimmers streaking laps through my veins
children splashing
in the full pools of my eyes
divers exploring my deep.
Spread tales of my Bermuda Triangle: time stopped
men lost;
I'll surround, envelop your body
salt your skin, waves
rocking you back
rolling along my whitecaps;
sometimes
you'll feel safe, others
you won't, but you'll dream
of me, longing
to dive in again.
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I absolutely love this poem; the last stanza, especially. It's my new favorite thing :D
ReplyDeleteThanks, marco. You know, you were the first person to ever read this poem when I wrote it in my Wilderness Writing journal (RIP).
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