Next Voyage

In the middle of this world
She is falling open
She ignores the wind-scarred fantasies behind
Sails into new outside over there
Her ship made of wings
Glowing worms at her feet enjoy marsh pools
Water,
Water,
Water
And they fall
And she belongs
In her skin, her boat, her seascape
Everything ocean here
Everything made of hands of paint
Smells like sawdust, soil, salt
Giant earthworms at the bottom of everything
Churn this planet
Revolve it
Into the somnambulant falls
Gulls cry
Not weep
Just loud, louder, loudest
Crumbling fevers
No sickness anymore
Now quiet
Living in my stomach
She doesn't have the nerve twitch
Breathes easy, eyes fierce, a hunter
But no blood here, no meat
All vegetation, growth and shine
The tremble of kill not here
Breeze slight, rain drops from singing stars
And silver moon
Shine on
The cracks, waves lapping
Always small clouds beyond, beyond, beyond
A lot to say
She writes in captain's log
Where does she go, this traveling sailor on windswept water?
Where is she leaving and what makes the giant seem small?

Everything ocean here. Photo by Anastasia Taioglou on Unsplash