I don’t regret walking
Wide eyed
Into your walls.
I don’t pretend
I didn’t see them.
I don’t believe I was able
To believe
What you told me
When our hands were having another kind of conversation,
But I knew that it was true
For you.
—
Like telling the ocean:
“I have edges that do not move,
That do not flow or spray or rage.
They just stay silently solid.
There are places that you cannot go.”
The ocean shimmers and nods and swirls around itself,
And your shoulders,
And between your fingers and amongst your hair,
Trying to imagine how that is.
—
I ain’t sorry.
For that or for this.
Know that the sting of salt water
Is testament to the healing it brings.
The ocean loves the shore
To the beat of the moon,
And their dancing
Makes the sharp things soft,
And the solid resistance of the shore
Gives the ocean occasion to feel
Her own force
And withdraw.
