And when I take in this air
The wind mirrors
The currents underneath me.
We're made of the same
Un-cut-able energy.
These under-waves that breathe
In Blooming aneurisms,
Like a great heart
Caught in the rhythm of the moon
And it's steady eyelid.
We are but capsules of this movement
On loan from the ocean.
Void-mother, salt nirvana
Breathing alongside us
And through our many faces.
Deep, hungry, all consuming black,
As the only affront to the abyss.
Her maelstrom-stomach
Now spitting wood and bottles
At the shore.
Before the inversion of her,
Loosening her keen grip on life
She settled to exist in scars
Pounding rhythm into the shore
And singing in many voices.
That masculine sun
Holding her flat, rejecting advancements,
Falls in their dance
And cannot cover her turning.
He flees the storms.
She swallows electric
Giving light to the deeper life
The great glowing thuds returned
She’s waking hearts to contain a fury,
She's making music into movement into us.
And from the movements,
Bubbles take the warmth up
Past the gaze of colossal ones
Living their lives as silhouettes.
Past caryatids in the black,
With curious eyes,
Holding up sponge-lined trenches
Threaded with eels.
Past the sand bed stretches
Thick with silt-eating things
Relishing the mud
That rises on the corners of rocks.
Past a plaice's eye
Which Crawls across his face,
In his short puberty,
Looking for dangerous shadows.
Delicate bubbles turn
Their pressured skins
Up through water currents,
To come burst at my feet,
And in the millionth morning
That comes into its opening
I am rocked like a child
In the movement I’m made of.
So I can just look forward
At the sun-blink.
