This inchoate dream I had
was sprinkled into warm water. White,
iodized grains lilted and settled on the bottom.
I wanted to taste the salt on everything.
I lost it, split lip dripping.
(I should know better, I should know better.
It was never going to be the sort of undertaking
I could waltz up to on a whim.)
The ocean rolls into my mouth.
Among the jellyfish, reef sharks, brittle stars, limpets,
the taste is still there, changing the water.
Spilt dreams tossed over my left shoulder,
they brace me, balast against the incalculability of the sea
and the un-alonest I will ever be.
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