How did I know what the sea was, let alone know how to dream of it?
I had never seen it.
The water I knew was near stagnant,
it had no motion unless others waded in,
pushed their bodies into its warmth.
How did I know saltwater?
The runoff of eyes.
But those small dark marks know no motion except down.
The sea rose and carried me,
my two-ton body, my rough self.
My dried mud toes and caked mud tongue.
I woke up, my equilibrium lost. I could not right myself.
It is hard to keep circling around the thing that happened and not say it.
But it is also hard to say it.
So, I circle some more until it tells itself.
I can trust that it will.
(More drafts of Land Beast)