Black lashes
blown off of a fingerpad that throbs
in tandem with an overharvested eyelid
flit to the floor—
wasted wishes
manufacted in mockery of dandelion's dance.
Keratin cracks
beneath the pressure of enamel,
exposing weak, watery skin
on trembling fingertips—
nervous nibbles
evolved into voracious, cannibalistic cravings.
Though hope
fractures under the weight of repugnant gazes
and my unsightly nubs grasp blindly for pigments to suppress
these habitual shames—
flesh forgives
more than the self, and, like a forest after a fire, it grows back.
It always grows back.
The ocean is a brimming bountiful beauty,
of whales, porpoises, dolphins, seahorses,
fish, seabirds, plankton, algae,
sparkling brine of emerald and blue.
Her dead are entombed in her eternal body,
she rises in the merciless storms,
with waves that toss many craft.
Yet, she also lies smoothly as a
sleeping kitten,
mariner's timeless sea chanties in the
winds.
She is envious of the sailor's love
for mermaids,
as she calls them from ports with
her lure.
She's undiscovered in
some ways,
oceanographers still learning.
She must not be overharvested,
she needs to replenish her strength.
Always wondrous and courted
by the mystique of the moon,
warm and bright in the tropical sun,
colder in the North's barren heart.
The great deep-
her legend in literature, art, and song. ~
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