she whispered – and then,
My voice is rough, but I know a good song.
I tilted my head, and she sang
like sand shifted by the waves,
her eyes half closed.
Occasionally her throat would scratch
and she would look away, as I
tilted my head more,
because I only heard the bliss-cry
of a fish-laden gull.
I wondered why
the sound of the ocean
would hide in a conch shell.
Can beauty not have sound? I asked,
and she shook her head.
Not broken sound, was her reply.
She looked at a postcard of the sunset
with orange and pale blue
and she sighed; two pink shells
breathing her salt-water breath.
I could see her bare feet
and the smooth curve of her heel,
toes wiggling in the dirt as if they were
dreaming of seaweed between them.
What is the ocean? I asked.
My head began to lean, but I
told it to stay straight.
It is terrifying, she replied contentedly,
as she smiled reflected sun,
and there is never silence.
As I wondered if I would like this,
she remembered how
undoubtedly she loved it.
I want to go there when I die, she said.
The last word, it scared me a bit.
I asked why she wanted what she did,
and her eyes rippled smoothly.
She replied, It seems close enough to God,
with all the angelfish. Do you know what coral is?
I said no, and her hair
leapt over her shoulder when her face came to mine.
In her skin ran blue currents
and chilly depths.
Coral is a city, she said, A city
where sunsets sleep each day.
She saw me fail to comprehend,
and promised we’d go
when the stars skitter along bubbles,
and sharks use reflections as stepping stones.
Spoiler! :
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