my burning ship sails into the harbor
the flames stand taller than the mast
but I slip into a slip without a blip.
once tied off, I stroll across the dock to dry land
firefighters haul their heavy hose past me
fast paces and serious faces, I don’t know where the race is
an overworked housewife fumbled
and dropped her phone into the ocean
she caught it before it sunk
and it still mostly functions
but she can’t hear when he calls
girl was afraid of the ocean
“it’s powerful,” she said
she only ever went in
to her ankles
so she was stuck
on the island
that’s it
she didn’t leave
the cold creeps into my happiest moments
everything is going right
I’m doing everything right
but I’m still sinking deeper into the water
I swim far out into the ocean
farther than my arms should take me
the waves are pushing me violently
but I wait, cold and sad,
for the giant squid to wrap me in her tentacles,
pull me down into the heavy, dark water.
the pressure will be a relief
as my skull cracks, I’ll leak out
free to float in the abyss
shapeless
the trees rise up everywhere
tall and moss-covered
the street shines with the light sprinkle
full of reflections of car headlights
the air blows in from the sea
chilling but not through jackets
I am the ocean
she is the boat
and she is the anchor
I take the boat and anchor everywhere
we explore the world together
hurricanes are inevitable
I am the ocean
she sails into a harbor
and she plummets to the rocky bottom
boat and anchor weather the storm
we set off again
calm waters always return
