Poetry

to the sea

the moon demands that you shed your skin
because it is better to be animal
when the silver hits

eyes reflect in the dark
and the surf roils
and like something primal
you feel absolved –
washed clean of the sins of your father

heart beats flow more slowly
as the tide welcomes you in
the in out of your breathing
a staccato as old as
the salt on your tongue

you duck your head under the surface
and it welcomes you home
as it muffles your ears and takes your breath away
lungs burning

(we are made of this, we came from this, and so we return)

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