As she sleeps she can feel the steady pull of the moon
drawing her deep to the bottom of the sea.
And as she rests in the womb of the world
and feels the throbbing of the ocean around her ears,
hears the far-off whale call,
senses the whisperingly quiet fish brush against her skin,
she is coral.
Her seaweed hair is pulled back.
And she can spend hours just breathing out
and watching the ripples in the green.
she is in the deep water,
and in the river-reeds,
and the tide pushes her in and out,
and her body scrapes the sand when she floats, limp
in the shallow water of the beach.
And she touches the sharp-edged red sea glass,
cutting her palm,
kissing the blood,
tasting the bitter taste of the life
that is leaking out of her through her hands.
She tries to breath out,
tries to make ripples in the blue sky,
but she is rasping,
and her breath is chafing her lungs,
and she is still.
And she longs for the wet tang
of salty sweet sea water.
Cooling her face,
letting her move and swim and
feel the soft motion of her gills in the blood water.