Shake and Tremor
But Lot’s wife looked back, and she became a pillar of salt.
Still the blue heron lifts long legs over early morning.
Still the blue green boulders filled with barnacles.
Still the green ropes of sea.
Still rivulets in the sand, remnants of the night.
Still I believe in the power of lust,
the full shake and tremor of living
on a moving planet that revolves around a ball of fire.
Still the crabs small and white like moons in need
like promises unspoken
or promises spoken and unfulfilled.
Still I wish to be swallowed whole by the sea.
Still the sea, the spume and crash of the sea.
Still the salt rich water coating my skin.
Still my porous skin.