They call the waves white-sharks, and they run from them in fear. They say the water is so vast that you could disappear. And when a child goes near, they pull her back into the sand. They say she is borne from the land. They feel they need to grip her hand.
But I am sea borne and I will swim. I am sea borne and I will live. Upon the white-sharks current, and upon the vast deep below. I will take the child in my arms and swallow her whole. I will make her whole.
She is whole.
They save their own from my care. I am lost without the wear. I cry at night like the white-sharks do. I cry too, I cry too.
Copyright © Faire Lucas