Salt Skin

i am a washed out beach, washed up
driftwood groaning against the rusting nails
ploughed into the grain.

if you could just pause in your
restless searching and
listen to the brittle sea-grass whispers,
you might hear


that i have seawater rushing through my veins;
pulled by the moon.  heaving, i am
desperate
to lift myself and carry
my heavy garment of shifting
sands to a new
curve in the shore.

the continents are mumbling sleepily,
uneasily resisting their wayward edges.
shifting like beached whales
that crush themselves in their sleep-
just trying to breathe- my lungs
floundering to find water again
just before my heart collapses,

under the weight of oceans.
wading into the water, the slap of
waves on rock is my bones
breaking

and the sea floor is become
the cradle of my skull.