I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood.
My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary.
Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation.