The Reef Growing Coral Fingers

I DIDN'T WANT YOU THERE, in the Bay.
I worried that if we stayed
you'd be drunk on wine
and I knew that couldn't be healthy,
also I don't like wine.

When I had garnered courage
to look in your direction,
you seemed a light under a cloth,
or a suckling pig,
or a bristly and quilled forest creature, wetted,
who when unwetted
would be bristly,
and quilled.

The tide came in then, right into our room,
and washed up to the bed.
The waves swelled, swaddling us,
and we were so deep the sun had not yet been born,
though I could hear you in the seagulls,
and I thought that to be quite fitting,
you in the seagulls.

And when you were taken from the sea,
and banished with us on dry land,
I saw that you were all those things,
the froth and the brine,
the whitecaps
the sailfish
the reef growing coral fingers,

and I became accustomed to wine
and the sound of seagulls.

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