I saw her on the sand, sleeping
wrapped in a blanket of hours. Really.
It was only a period wrought by the sun,
the moon pulling the hair of the waters,
pulling them near, then far, while she lay
sleeping.
Imperceptibly, she turned. Slow, so
slowly you couldn’t see — unless you watched.
Unless you were looking.
But even then you wouldn’t see her dreaming
although you wouldn’t, couldn’t take your eyes
away.
I saw my future in the sea, really.
That day, when no one else was looking,
their own mouths
glowing with fish, & crabs. Really. In what
I thought were her dreams. And that
was the time she came up to me. That lovely
unforgiving woman. She was the sea.
Sure, the wind had ravaged her blankets
of sand, & yes, I thought . . . I could see
right in. Every strand of her primordial amniotic being.
Everything. And every part of her called to me.
And that’s how I went. I went in completely.
And as I dove
I heard her say, “I don’t invite you in, not really.
So I make no promise to let you go, ever,
to give you land again.”
I know. Though no one else can see, I never — despite
the towels & clothes & all —
got dry again. Not really.
She did not invite me in, at all. She will not let go,
I know.
Like a crab or fish, I’m lost in her dish.
And I’ve never made it back again. Though I crawl.
~jwl
https://www.jonwarrenlentz.com
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