Water Burial

The morning after, a dark night

had passed along with lack of sleep and worry.

The ocean called; it’s long scream broke the dawn.

Along the shore the waves began to scurry.

As soon as silence fell and settled down,

out of the clouds an early morning light

illuminated fish kept mute but songs

that rose, spread out, were growing on their own.

The sun rays painted seaweed in disguise

like golden strands of hair, across two shapes; 

their knees, two waxing moons stretched out 

into the clouded borders of the thighs.

With feet elongated in a dappled shade, 

and bellies resting in a hollowed core 

as fruit once ripened in a summers breeze, 

then ripped by winds to perish and to fade.

At noon the sun threw light as sharp as knives.

The ocean whispered not to harm its prey,

demanding fish to swim away and hide, 

but left a lonely shark to guard and stay.