Pooling over rock this blue
could not cling
or neatly shape, crashing
upon barnacled body, it could not say wake up
and know the foam of me─
the evidence you can hardly hold
but softly sift, a swaying in out
of gull song on wind, iridescent glint
of pelican wing drenched
in oil and wadded atop the rock, the beginning
of a rainbow, you saw it!
with those heavy lids, the prism glint
of distant seal fin,
a mother, her heavy body nearly dead
in the rock but living
for some song which has distilled
into blubber and velvet, into lover and pup,
woven plumply-- even their barking song
lands thick before the fat is liquored
by some man with a shadow,
or their oil swallowed to make a secret
rainbow within
swished between
each tooth and its secret black cavity
with teachings from a scarred pelt;
torn and mended
atop the same barnacled rock
she had no choice but to choose
to return to--
as you must
eat the stuff which has eaten you
foaming your wound, each briny gargle
surges through throat with the same force
you must use to sing
through, every massive wave
begins, somewhere, as hum─
so I cannot just say
let me wake you
who, barnacled in disbelief, have known impossibly
silken greens, so softly swaying
between jagged crusts, have homed
zoea in a salty pool of seal birth, blood black
foam, tiny fins, the frantic lick of love
let me splash!
into and out of
your pocketed chest
where violent me
has perforated, discolored you
punch holed, and swallowed you
the never promised home
for such tender and hard shelled things
unbelievable scattering
of light which has distilled
into shimmering flakes of abalone skin
rainbow rock, rainbow thing
over millions of waters, hardened yes hardened
as swirling beams, as blue rose secret
born from nothing! You must be
shucked to be seen,
heart in palm, auriform stone
who heard in the sudden sky
a rainbow that could sing
to rock wing pelt throat skin
to home and broken wing, drenched
in oil, fin shreds, interleaved
pinks of mollusk,
unglossed meat, heart
too small big to see, so let me
throat a hum
in that swirling wound mend,
the color of every between
thing no one could say
is singing.