It is midnight and the sharks are circling.
Inside the house you can hear the flicks of fins and tails
that slap against your home, this stationary ark, the shadow
of a stronger covenant. The waters are dark
and changeable. They agitate the reflection of the neon lights
and bonfires that twinkle like stars in the sky beyond which
the distant heavens are burning, boiling for retribution
thousands of galaxies yet minutes away.
And the man you love the most, your captain,
would have your daughter thrown out into
those dark waters.
Run.
Run because it’s sink or swim
in this shark infested ocean of mistakes;
sins, we sometimes call them.
Explosions descend like prehistoric demon-fish,
deep cavern dwellers
streaking the sky with electric pulses.
It is unclear where destruction ends and creation
begins. Where to next? Some other ocean?
An ocean connected to oceans connected to this
churning bay. Or fresh water? But you know
that sharks have been known to swim upstream,
even thrive saltless waters. What would tears
taste like without this essential mineral?
What reefs and endless wonders,
forfeit life?
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