I used to hear the ocean
exhaling in a pink bellied
shell. At night, shadows
fell against the windows
and my prayers swelled
to the moon. I melded myself
into old polaroids, made
enough tears to quell others'
happiness.

Now I swallow nothing
but the bitter; I pray with
braying laughter, savage
dance, muscles cramps.
Sweat stains on autumn
days are Holy. The past wades
only as high as my knees
when I'm kneeling.
If I need to hear the ocean I take
myself there, or I press my ear
close to the people nearby. I know
them and the roaring exhales of
their oceans inside.