I only have one sea now.
Once there were so many I knew
I could sail them all
one by one after each other and I
was not alone, was missing
nothing and no one time
was I somewhere else, sailing
other seas. Not mine, and too eternal.
I know there is one left, and here I sit
in it, without oars, missing arms, headless.
This is exactly how I must be. Whole.
A small sea asks so little of us. Still,
I want all of it so I can cut it up in
little mirrors or prisms or make windows.
I need to see where the glints lead,
if they are lapping now at my bedroom window
or inching up the front walk, a threat.
Or maybe it is enough to finish one’s life
with a single sea, time on my side, so much of it
that the only ship I have for only one sea is starting to list.
I could sink, but the waves are purring now, whiskery foam
tickles my legs and I laugh at the deck
where my feet do not fumble, where stars, never still, lap at my ankles.
I have only one sea now and
it is more than enough for thirst.
Albatross honors me, and I let it live.
We drink blood together,
we face the anonymous mist, and
we know
we will
survive, even if the
blood is gone.
Just one sea,
to stay alive.
