So we pilgrimage
to rocky seaside fishing towns,
beachfront cabanas with bottle service,
and hammocks rocking a couple feet from shore.
Let me wade in, float on the horizon,
hold my raisined fingertips on the living barrier between sea and air
until I can’t tell where my body ends
and the world begins.
Of course, we too are bodies of water.
Water breaks, and with a splash
we are the very sign of life.
Flooded with our own microbiomes
of living and lethal flora.
Carving our paths around the planet.
Rising and crashing to the cycle of the moon.
Harboring depths no one ever sees.