bliss station ~ poetry

beach

the sand refuses to own,
the sea denies,
orphaned
the plastic breathes in undeservation -

obligations to call my limbs brown describing
them under the sand even though,
there, or beneath sea-foam,
it is not seen, does not matter,
never did -

dip in the sea to know -
there is more salt than in you, so
the kids playing beachball are just
legs with distant uncertain bodies -

you see a pearl knitting an oyster around it, taste
the ripple of reversing myth, hear
the whale, rolling up her jeans, to beach -

open your eyes with the lightning
before thunder wakes you up -
roll up your sleeves to scoop up fish,
open your eyes the right way & see
that the whale has done what you heard her get ready for -

you could have hummed back.

~Ajay
25/8/19