5Sea anemones,
pulpy pinks and pumpernickels
across the shore.
I watched them as they were
abandoned and reclaimed by the sea,
forever caught in that
intermittent love affair.
I felt, perhaps, that I was
a part of it all,
bringing them leaky fistfuls of water
when the waves were gone too long.
Childhood exhausted and slept.
My apartment was small and
Had no ocean
sans a murky tub that I didn't doubt
harbored primordial life.
I knew, though, that the
rest of the metropolis
had no life within its downcast eyes
and it was never thirsty.
When I couldn't stand the busy emptiness,
I discovered that roads were long,
and gasoline scents seeped into your skin
and people rippled about before fading away.
I saw whole rivers suck into the sky,
shells where sea snails dissipated,
and sobbed drops of salt
onto the dry, dry asphalt.
The rivers were never enough,
but cradled my yen and saturated my
with a lust for green capped crests and
pools of breathing water.
I settled, impossibly rooted
and buried myself in snow and
solitude and sense cense.
The wrinkles of my skin were a pale wash.
Skies were a reprieve, elation-
Miles of cloud banks, thin air and
blue, brought me to
a degree of wordlessness, and
The appearance of senility.
I knew I had been gone too long,
and felt my bones crackle bitterly,
begging for moisture and
creamy sands that cried upwards in the head.
Sea anemones; they were the same,
pink and pumpernickel, and
curled in on themselves at the touch of my hands.
I breathed as they were abandoned and reclaimed,
trapped while I was free.
The waves left too long, and I
rippled to the shore,
both fists clenching water to
save us both from drying out.