Feature Image Credit:  Peter Horree / Alamy Stock Photo

He drifted through kelp, broken
scalp diffusing red like squid

ink clouding itself. Crowded, the spiny
urchins hinged their drift west. He slept,

I knew, towards his death. What harm
could there be in waking him?

Through the dark-prismed sun of my
depths, his skin glowed sweet: comet-fruit

shaping waves with its plummet, all of him
begging for touch. I breathed into his sanded

tongue. His eyes widened—black-cored, lit
by two dark stars carved of the earth he should

never have kicked from. I drew him
to surface, remembering: I can light

from inside into something like silver.


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