one by one, my limbs puddle and spread
into tide pools in the carpet, blue with music
shallow and clear
I was ten days tired two months ago, but
I still sloughed the sleep from my shoulders this morning
and walked from 9 AM through noon
climbed at last into 7 PM
and laid my dripping skin across the floor
face-down
and sank, and sank
until I could see the coral sea between my eyelashes
the barracudas making figure-eights through fibers in the rug
the floating tufts of plankton dust
and I am low-tide languid now, stretching
sandy-toed toward the horizon
no ships, no sails
no need for white capped waves along my spine
just still water and the hush of teeming life in my veins
swaying as softly as untouched seaweed
and the moon turns me silver
when midnight comes
