You are an ocean to me,
Wide and fathomless as the ancient sea,
When you clasp and turn me in your arms,
I am both drowning and safe from harm.
I breathe in the brine,
I mirror you in every flashing scale,
From my necklace of dead men’s ivory,
To the tip of my silver-shadowed tail.
I read every change of current and pull of tide,
Though I am dumb to the source
Of your subtle turns.
I unfurl my net of shining hair,
And let my songs go, half sung to the foaming air.
Every note that I sing of love rings true,
And every ship that I wreck, I devote to you.
But when you are tired of broken ships,
I will learn to read your hidden rips,
I will learn your stillness and your undertow,
I will sing the language of your ebb and flow.