evercrash of waves put me
on the untouched shore
I crawl because i don’t know
how to walk this grain.
Now I would say tumbled waves
are fletched like an arrow constantly
turned to ensure its flight straight
and unencumbered by splinters.
Later I staunch blood, remember
the now of the sun then, too bright,
too warm in this comfort blanket.
Now I would say I was slippery
as bladderwrack or between thighs
of a woman heated by want,
and hungry but not for food.
I leave it to the ocean
behind me that flickers
with sounds some of which
i understand but the waters
less and less drag me back,
push me to drygrain land.
I must find leafshelter
in the arms of mothered soil,
in the limbs of the trees,
beneath the coddling leaves,
a fallen tree stump helps
me stand. I break a branch
test it does not break with my weight.
I stand free of the stump. Upright.
Now I would say my skin
lost its sheen, became sticky
as the green blood of plants
that trap food with their leaves.
upright, you can see further,
and in the sand prints
of your own feet, and others,
smaller, differently shaped,
Now you would say these are scratches
on pages, distinct signs in a forest,
or plain, each holds itself a tell, a map,
of sense and season and root.
smooth your hand over gnarled
stick of then that supports your weight
when you stride forward to follow
the beckoning of others tracks,
inhale the freshness from the waves,
that tastes salty to your tongue,
the sweetness from the inland trees,
and smaller flimsy coloured leaves,
and a bitterness, a stink gets stronger,
as you trace the tracks other
than your own go inland, broken
leaves. How many feet does it have?
Now accused of techno anomie
because you refuse others access to your senses,
your avatar still in the forest, on the plain,
walks without aid beside the everwaves .
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