By Rebecca L. Morrison
Far past azure currents, they tumble,
Peasants amongst deserted masts.
Reeled from lithe limbs and shrunken sins,
She stays sunk by the din of curious land.
Most pleasant paths render her hazy,
Begun by peeled citrus, obscured in thick sand.
Laziest waters turbid with her sorrow
Play host to quick demons undone by her hand.
Oysters and treasure both bend ‘round her collar,
Licked by the waves that strive to find home.
Glimmering ropes tighten and tug her towards coral;
Fury leaves her broken-down by the shore.
Ocean-eyes dry with the sun when gulls wake her,
But they tumble around her as if she were air.