I write my name over and over on the surface of water.
The linger of some words on the surface
freaks me out, but so does their dissolution.
Online diagnostics pop (on the surface of the water).
Sand crabs burrow in saturated sand—half terrestrial.
Depth is a misnomer for height,
in every direction. Since I left
or vice versa. If you swim
for long enough, landfall is
happiness is vertigo.
I can’t open my mouth without
gushing ocean all over.
Toy shovels for arms, I sit on a sand-mound flinging
echoes all over my wet skin. I write over and over
my name at the seam of land and sea.
And the surface of the water won’t stand still for my definitions.