Seaweed slides through my knees
Stringed beads of brown
I comb its greased locks
And I daren’t look down
But I feel the traffic of murk
The mystery of this deep
The swell of its breaths
A monolith heartbeat
The shore is a distant seam
Hemmed in against the sunlight
My cheeks dry like clay bowls
Polished and tight
Later, I shall leave slack prints
Across the naked asphalt
Bite the skin near my nails
And taste salt
ataraxicat 