When I almost died
in those waves I crawled
out of the ocean like it was
the first time—something evolved
and nameless. Squinting in the
unfiltered sun, coughing up seawater
on to the sand in the shape of your
face or of God's, I sat on the dunes
and wrote you a postcard. It may have
been a concussion. I didn't want to sleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment