I have exited myself into the ocean –
as waterlogged boardwalks
as waves and wharves and whales.
as salt overflowing heavily
soaking – shockingly, stunningly
in your translucent brine.
In your most foamy waves are things which surge me,
or which I cannot sway because they are too strong.
Like salmon billowing strangely, quietly
bobbing in your tides, slowly undone.
When the sound of this –
driftwood crashing on sand
surf darkly everywhere roiling;
There is nothing that can keep me
from keeling over
in this jellyfish release –
the wreck of your sparkling oyster:
Wave over me –
the tide of this sound,
the sound of this tide,
washing float and pier with each rising.
I do not know what it is about you receding and flowing;
only that something in me cascades onto your shore,
your wharf teeming with all that salt.
No beach can hold you.
Not even the boats and buoys and boardwalks –
your spray washes beyond any driftwood,
your wharf holds their turbulence at bay.