I've been barreling across oceans
lately.

Across blue and green
and salty winds
(my hair in a mass,
as I
sail, sail, away)

I've been closing my eyes and tearing
over waves.
barely letting the foam brush
my toes
(a tingling tickle, that I
choose to
ignore).

ignore
so many times that I
can't turn around and go back
and hold a sconce to my ear and hear the
ocean anymore.

I've become a desert snail.

Trudging through the sand
(so hot it
scorches
my stomach
and
I can
almost
hear you laughing)

up hills, up hills I go
of burning sand
(they're coals)
and I feel it underneath
my fingernails
as I climb
I climb
I climb
where I can almost touch the sun.
where I can feel the warmth of kindness on my face
again.
where I can imagine your eyes
the color of a garden snake

the cruelty of a garden snake.

In my shell,
I hear no ocean.

I've become a desert snail.