A landlocked alternative for jumping in the surf

arrives in the form of simple extension and compression
while the kelp forest sways idly in the underwater lull
you’re a six-foot swell on the horizon

air bubbles in the synovial fluid crackle under the surface of my spine
tugged by the pressure of a tidal energy // your arms a double overhead barrel
closed out by open palms curling in

:: i keel into unity with water anatomically, the energetic housing of chaos coiling head over heels, swirling throughout frothy endless vigor till i level steady an inspiration for air, a receiving ::

a burst of calm.
endorphins releasing in the happiest of exorcisms.

my freckles smile bright washed by the sun and saltwater
the shore ebbs // “you smell like the ocean,” you say in an exhale and ensue
the radius and ulna and humerus relaxing till the tide goes out

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Try your best to remember the sun is just another star

you entered          —          slowly.          interrupting

The first time we met I stood peeking out from behind the incense cedars and you were cloud-scattered sunlight flickering through the branches.
Told me your mother named you Spear-Strength and I returned that my mother named me after the cold Pacific White Waves.

Traces of Apollo in your blood fire springing from your brow and I notice you pop out a cigarette to light whenever we get to the top of a mountain. Curry recipe in your hands and spurs clicking the ground at your heels with a red paisley cowboy kid look in your eyes. I seem to keep getting in your way in the kitchen.

smelling of:      smoked paprika     fresh-baked bread     basket of wildflowers

The steel carabiners clink together like wind-chimes hung from our waists.
Tied in to the stony crag where I hear you say I’m strong.

After three years I’m taking my vengeance on the split granite dome and when I finally reach the top I find you waiting like Sampson fast asleep but you jerk awake easily when I touch your hair and I start to wonder why I have the tendency to want to wake you up.

figure-eight knots         eight-spotted          american forester          american kestrel

Tying feathers to my elbows and ankles I’ve got a nature to run into the sunset clouds to keep my legs from getting too restless at night.
I know that in the end I’ll be running back through the doors every time but you’ve got a different type of restlessness don’t you and when I do come running back through the doors sweaty and red like I’d been chased by one of my recent nightmares you jump up with your guitar playing like you wanted to make me dance and singing like “It’s okay it was just a bad dream just go back to sleep.”

And after the day you told me “I know what it’s like to fall through the ice” I started thinking about how I could tell you that I know what it’s like because I’ve fallen through the ice too.

alternative folk    //      bluegrass punk     //     americana     //     new wave post-hardcore

Taking night walks to the docks to clear the noise from our heads got me thinking about the day we met and how you looked at me like sunlight.
But you’re not the sun are you at least not in the sense of the springtime sunlight warming our faces but more like one of those pictures captured in space that we have to dim to see on a screen more like one of those pictures of a rough molten sphere so turbulent it bursts in flares at least every other day and I’m catching your reflection glances because I’m the moon phasing full churning up the tides into this rip current catching us red-handed.

When we dance we light up the sky.

the same           universe            for the brief           —

So we will mostly undress.
You started asking me about where I got my oceanid veins and I said it’s all about learning to kiss the face of chaos to catch a pure breath of peace but that’s when I started to remember I needed to come up for air.

See I’ve got this wild habit of keeping my foot off the brake when I’m driving the downhill curves and (I think I’m getting better at it but) every now and then I crash (turn and burn) and now (for five straight days) you’ve set forest fires on my mind so when you find the words to ask me how I slept last night I honestly gotta say that my spine aches from whiplash and I honestly gotta say that I’ve felt it before (hit and run). All I want to hear you promise me you won’t leave without saying goodbye.

please          watch your step! on         your way out of           the garden

Oceanography

Never an oceanographer; most often a photographer.

Never a photographer; mostly an oceanographer.

But you lie; sometimes you are a photographer.

And sometimes photography is oceanography.

Our teeth like eyes reflect light when they show.

Do you always just jump in like this?

Well, do you always just snap the shutter open shut like this?

His eyes glowed green.

This is why people hold hands, isn’t it.

The blue blanket flipped and roared.

I sure hope so–

We ducked under the foaming sheets,

Looking out for the place the sun sleeps.

Coping (even after spilling the coffee)

:
spills coffee (5 a.m.)

          No coffee, no party!

But at least you can never spill the sea

It greets you
, never leaves you           you’re the one who leaves it
Either bathes you in the best colors
Or chews you to pieces and spits you out on the sand

he tries out alliteration; tried out surfing for the first time (12 years old)

          Soaking with saltwater, I’m soaking with saltwater

Still tasting it on his lips even after peeling off the sealskin

cheese-pesto bagel with cream cheese (9 a.m. from brother Altair)
surprises you with his choice; an inside joke

          Wait, are you having a Strawberry bagel?
          I don’t discriminate
          …Against…Ginger bagels?
          Even though they do have no soul

Deciding you will gather up yourself in blankets since the sea kissed you cold–

          Artemis, you’re a really cool person

there declares Jupiter in the doorway (9:15 a.m. even though he knows you have a hard time taking compliments)

          …Thanks
          I hope you have a nice day today

exits Jupiter

later in the sunlight (11:10 a.m. barely casts your shadow on the dirt)

, spark-eyed Kairon single-handedly power massages the sore spot below your shoulder blade
Before resuming the walk to work

None of them know it’s the little things that help you cope

Oceanid Veins

When the sand touches her bare paws —

No, when the brisk water sinks into her skin,
and the briny soak begins —

Now she begins again
the forgetting
that she is
nothing
but Dust. 

Instead, she is Sea and Sky;
     hydrous Phoenix,
Gaia’s down blankets,
Strewn with Poseidon’s precious stones:

Green Fluorite at Dawn      Apatite at Noon
Lapis Lazuli at Sunset      Blue Tiger Eye at Dusk.

Here, she dwells      in the

boundless     vial     of tears,     submitting         

    every      despair     to the frames of

Nereid mustangs     to bear;     and through 

    the allotment     of hours     she steeps,     

   those sorrows     weigh light,     carried with ease

     by the      strong       arms         Of the Sea

“Welcome to the Land of Thunder,”
she says, and
“Welcome to the Teal Kaleidoscope,”
she says,
smiling like stars.

But if you lean close you’ll hear her whisper,
“Welcome to my diamond-flecked satin sheets–”
And if you lean closer you’ll hear her whisper,
“Are you ready to fall in love?”
–and watch her fly straight into the waves.