and she came home from the sea
thinking about the balance of things

the way the palms of her feet
left mountains in the sand

and the way the sun hung
–unmoved by wind or waves–
suspended
in the sky
or sea

thinking about
the things she
heard
or spoke

gifted
or stole

forgave
or burned

and the fragile little life she acquired
somewhere
along the line

not even potent enough
for the sea to notice

nor long enough
to change its mind

the way she exists only
in the space between things

at the mercy of
everything

and reigning lord of
none