One, two
legs over the rail.
Up to her neck
in dead skin,
peeling & revealing
a throbbing pain
within.

The Bay below:
secrets & dreams
asleep beneath
its glittering seams.
Golden Gates span
from her vague
& distant face;
searching the moon,
cratered & dry,
aching to find
that hidden continent.

You’ll find it
beneath the waves,
said the moon.
Bitter chill slams her eyes,
prying them open.
Seagulls cry out
a warning to the
blissfully deaf.

One, two
feet in the air,
rushing past
& oh so fast
as memories stream
from brightening eyes
& hair lunges
at receding clouds,
anything to clutch,
for one last touch
before—

Bubbles flee the scene,
exhaling at the surface
a life set free
to ride the winds
of a suffering world.