From here it’s so simple:
seagulls are kites tugged by mermaids
and jellyfish lie marooned in blue heaps, deflating their poison.
But why do they still terrify me more than bears?
I surrender my sandcastle to the waves’ kisses
and smile at a couple jogging by. Love cannot be hoarded.
An ocean breeze leafs through my book like a very old woman
licking her fingers before flipping each page.
There is commerce in the ocean:
a frantic swapping of fish and shells and secrets
but no luck for the fisherman who scratches his nose,
throws up his arms, and says to his son: “Nobody’s home”
as boat after boat falls
over the horizon’s harsh plank.