I made it-
not to say that it is done-
that I can breathe now
that I know this.
I am here
none-the-less
by the sea
all-the-more-
for me-
guilty
pleasures are all mine
in fine coarse grains.
I am aware,
consciously,
that the measure of success
is off the charts, the beaten path
off the grid,
infinite and yet most
definitely a direction,
like horizon.
It does not move me
along-
but still, I bother
to rise to each occasion,
daytime, in lightyears
despite the erosion, in spite of doubt,
the tides still rise
in order
to pull stars in
circular motions,
like me, reeling.
I am pulled back to sea.
The end begins again
with me
mixing carbon and salt,
separating oil from water
I found a solution
to stop the bleeding.
Watercolor by William Matthew Hodgkins c. 1894 in Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
