DAILY The Sea, in sonorous mantras of surf Repeating its curl and heave, curl and heave Slushes gold along tide lines, Strafed in sand dollars. Flatulent smells of warm seaweed, Wet, then dry, and wet again, Surprise the nose as winds shift, Strands drag silky against skin, Sensuous and creepy, Octopus legs wrapping ankles. Botticelli’s Venus stood thus Waiting on wind and tide to give birth. Her placenta holding the sea We seek again in this parched time, Doing time, wanting to be born anew. A wave’s jade curtain rises, washes over, Foam rises around thighs and belly As the sea calls me hers again.
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