Saltwater is sometimes
the only safe place to hide,
sunken under miles of ocean,
hiding between the corals and
schools of zebra-striped fish.
I whisper your name again
and again like a prayer
but there’s never any response.
All I hear is the echo
of lovers who drowned.
I can’t build stepping stones
across the Atlantic
but I could pretend you’re
sitting next to me beside the
seaweed.
The shadows of my feet
kick up clouds of sand
from the ocean floor.
I feel sorry
for the salty creatures
who watch me from the abyss
in the same way that
I feel sorry for people
who have never seen
the world from above,
when the cities become toys
for the clouds to toss around,
and the cars and the people
vanish as if they never existed
at all. It’s the same way in reverse
underwater, the world lifts or maybe
you fall, there’s no air to breathe,
no space to call your own.
I don’t know how to measure
a life but I guess you could start
with the amount of times
you love someone.

Note: This was written during the Sounds and Singularities workshop with Alex and Reuben on Jan. 13. Thank you both for all of the inspiration! Also, this was previously titled "walking on the ocean floor" but I decided to change it. :)