Of Squalls and Tempests
You begin to see yourself
as being shaped by oceanic-waves.
Dressed in the muscle and fiber of restless storms.
A swish of a garment,
the high hem of a skirt pulls you into her flesh.
Sex remakes you into something you do not recognize.
A storm propels you,
a womb once pushed you,
into a tabular rasa, just so all the elements
of fire, air and earth could produce this creature-self
you now are.
Even mere words can madden your mind.
You wonder where and when you will set,
when you will be only the mold and not the molded,
suspect even, that you are but a sail for the wind.
Meanwhile a hermit crab leaves its shell once more
seeking the hunting cries of tempestuous seagulls.
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