GIVE ME THE SEA
The longing returns,
filling the ship like a slow leak,
as I lay, unconscious, on the floor.
Steady on, the boat rocks to lull me
even further into a danger zone.
Can I be awakened from the drug I was slipped?
Will there be an alert fellow-oarsman
nearby?
My heart, a sea sponge, expands to capacity,
mopping up, unprotected.
Will the great god Neptune, the psi king,
pluck me to safety with his shiny trident?
I hear him in the vicinity;
I smell his sea foam.
Admittedly, there's great beauty in the musculature
he has formed wielding strength to manage the tides.
For all that power, there is the treacherously soft
and gently touch of knowing,
capable of delivering one from a state of open vulnerability
to the rippling candor of completion
and in-the-moment safety.
That touch is an evolutionary measure,
full on with gills and scales.
