The air here hot with the drift
of salt and decay. I am flattened
between sky and the window of the sea
opening on creatures alive with
sparkle and green.
I take you into my lungs deeply
as I break the window and evolve
to swim with the largest of fish;
a fish as large as your eyes in water,
as small as the phylum of your breast.
I broadcast in filaments
and you move in suspension
like grass pulled through royal jelly.
I spell in rays. I see you
refracted and in focus.
If there is a dialogue within the canals
of this scale it is lost upon me,
and therefore you, for you are
the irritated mantle spinning
and repackaging my flesh.
You feed me as Aves, stealing
from the sea and others of your class
as though La Bahia could eviscerate
more than stones, as though La Bahia
could cool the pinch I nurse
on a cot under stars.
It is not for me to lecture
on the boy or girl of us.
We are both of us agents:
endemic to the geography of our spines
and separated only by our aboral skins.
About the Author:
Sean lives with his wife, her parents, and three dogs in Santa Ana, CA. They have been there 10 months now. The palateras frequent the street and ring their bells. They ring their bells quite often. With the help of aspirin and water Sean recovers. After he has eaten of course. Sean studied literature and poetry in school and now works in geophysics. Surprise.