my hands tinkle through the water
I float
I hear my lungs as though through speakers
the inside of my closed eyelids stained
the orange brown of giraffe skin
and all my organs come home in the water,
that womb-comfort moon-swing of tides

my body had been as if washed up on a shore
leaving no footprints
a dim light
but the flow and rock on my skin
thickens my cells
now I am no ghost
I break the surface and my ears adjust to the screams of the gulls
I’ve come through
and it was alright

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