In the night
the Ocean gyres around me
and lifts my heart,
wet, full and swollen
to the street lights,
oiled, slick and bright,
burning to touch.
But fearing against the
cold wind
like a stick of butter
to the hard refrigerator
like a warm hand
to a colder pair
-- the blue gyres and swarms and spins
me
to nausea, to dread.