Only darkness can show
silver collisions in the sky
that we like to think are specs.
Frosty foam greets the shore
with a smile and a hug.
I see nothing but the white,
but I know the waves
are soft enough to sustain me.
This thing called night can be eerie,
but I’m silently complacent.
Please don’t utter a word
so I can live in this.
Not even the sharp sand
beneath my feet
can distract the high
in which my mind
has taken refuge.
I close my eyes,
even though I don’t need to,
just to feel the wind dance
between my fingers,
under my arms,
and up my spine
until it pirouettes around my head
so many times
that the aroma of the ocean
takes me even higher.
There’s nothing I want more
than to have this more often than
once-in-a-blue-moon.
Earlier today
I carved my name in these grains,
through the damp, tired, diligent earth
that never ceases to trail behind.
I etched it ever-so-quickly,
ever-so-deeply,
with merit.
They washed me away.
They splashed my scars,
they showered my skin,
they dove into my vessels
until they could drag every piece of me
into the deep blue.
Yes,
they washed me away,
but they lifted my chains in doing so,
and here I stand in the darkness,
arms open wide,
face to the sky,
life in my chest.

This is what they call freedom.