Low Water Lie In

Sleep is a tide and the moon is full. Eyelids slip, disappear under the swell, swept deep. Travels, toils, triumphs pass; the languid limbs move, quieted, under the liquid weight. On dry land, covers are kicked, bodies shift, sprawl, knock pillows to the floor.
As the light turns, so does the tide. Minds shiver up from the lunacy of dreams. They come up in silvery pieces, in a shoal of bubbles, up to the shallows, to bump the shore, to nestle into rock pools where the remnants of dream are caught.
When this mermaid finds her legs, she makes coffee, remembers only the emotive rapidity, the cogent force of it. 


  1. How am I supposed to comment on this?

    I am in the presence of angels.


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