bare chested and open to the sky, I wish I knew what

it felt like to see the future. At this moment, all I know

is that the rocks are making grooves in my shoulder blades
and my ******* may very well be burning. It’s time to turn

over; try facing the earth and be captivated by ants
traipsing across the rock.
Minutae.
Mundane.
The tide may swell over and engulf me, fresh, to rock me gently

maybe underwater I’ll catch a glimpse of strong words
or the place where I die.
I’ll see my lover amongst the seaweed
and our children laying in shells.
But on my back, by this

sea, I hear friends praising each other in French
and see the sun’s outline when I close my eyes.
I am still 23 with purple fingernails and shaved legs.
I am no closer to the water.