Marrow-tide

I ran along the shore of a dry lake,
tracing the truth with the soles of my feet.

It was a truth that ran through my fingers
like prey through a tiger's eyes, like blood
across the curvature of a spearhead.

The world is dry, I thought, and as I ran
around the lip of the water's empty body,

Poseidon snapped his fingers
and the flesh of the sea rose jellylike,
punctured with the narrow tendrils
of pale orange sea creatures.

You and I are but sludge in the belly of the fifth-dimension
fish, sparkling clear with all the little points of light
in the seascape sand dunes.

You and I are salt and seaweed adrift
in the primordial soup of the ocean, and our thoughts
walk with footsteps clear as membranes
into the high and rising tide of campfire skulls.