From a thousand miles out to sea,
I suck at salt from the ocean floor;
arms uncrossed, stretched, the
popping spores, likes seeds,
puffed, are all-powerful.
The spray, I have taken from the pier
at Brighton, with all of its puzzles; the
peaty cliff faces of Hastings; the highest points
of western Scotland and the swirling
bays
along the giants causeway.
And then I have returned home; lungs aburst,
almighty,
and full of salt.
I suck at salt from the ocean floor;
arms uncrossed, stretched, the
popping spores, likes seeds,
puffed, are all-powerful.
The spray, I have taken from the pier
at Brighton, with all of its puzzles; the
peaty cliff faces of Hastings; the highest points
of western Scotland and the swirling
bays
along the giants causeway.
And then I have returned home; lungs aburst,
almighty,
and full of salt.
