for someone who’s never seen it
If it takes until the lungs empty, you want it,
to walk on its glass surface, to date the seven sisters.
With your last kiss, gigantic angel wings will write prophecy
all over the sky; of storms and choking waves, of the things,
right and wrong that become sea, sea that dries to salt.
On the edge of breathing, you’ll walk faster than anyone,
lick at dry lips, the indescribable saltiness of the body;
ride the current, unburdened of this lifetime
of sediment, pursue nothing. If it takes until the lungs empty,
you will go safely into the ocean.