by now it comes in waves

and you’ve learned to give in.

you ride the crystal sunshine

highs and brace for the fizzle

by living needless and light.

 

you’re used to the build, the

layers of thickening white

foaming in mouthfuls of brine,

receding one moment in time,

freshly unformed, released

 

in a kiss, a hiss of warm air,

every bit of resistance. this is

the point when life breaks

into two separate moments

without waiting for an answer.

 

by now it comes in waves and 

swimming does you no good.

you walk into still clear water,

knowing that the current will be

growing beneath the surface.

 

after a while you enjoy the drift

and try to forget the nausea.

others float right by your side,

aloof in the tide, porous enough

for your kind of love.

 

after a while, another like you,

solid and heavy, human and true,

drifts out from the far-off bay, but

you don’t cling to him. you know,

by now, that you both will sink.

 

by now, all you feel are waves.

their gentle swell. each layer

blankets absence, each night

washes anew the moon’s pull,

its whisper: know me, hold me.