seagull and ocean
womb, blue-walled wonder,
sea glass and salted

hair coiling
in the wet
palm like a net of

threads washing, stringing
the sound scrape, sand
in a wound like a mouth,
pulsing

warm breath like heart
blood

I am starting over, a year later, in hopes of something.

Your heartbeat a slow coma
hands slow bird-nets

trying to

drown them in the honey
filling your lungs