I hear the roll in the Cochlea Sea as I glide
Along the breach of Labor Canal
A pulsed circulation deep inside
Forms the plasma-tide that never subsides
As the lacrimal holds of mother and me release in bright light.
I doubt I’ll ever surface from the desire
To be free between the land masses, unknotted
From ligamentous structures, as I float near
Watercolors of greens, browns, and golds
And tendons of sands, rocks and clay
Stretching out to touch me.
Nerve-endings of the moon and stars
Will always guide my way back to the quivering
Where sodium meets water in that balance
Upon the briny womb - The liquid that feeds us all