The waves move too fast
For me to outrun them,
Laughing with adrenaline
My cotton pants are soaked and cold,
Even on this sunny day.
I’m always balancing
On the edge of disaster,
Drifting with the ebb and flow of kelp as it decays.
Seaweed that has met disaster already.
No longer planted in
The forest of the ocean,
No more to dance a tidal rhythm
Or secretly swish with friendly fish.
No more to absorb carbon dioxide,
And do the job that we will not, cannot do.
Aren’t we all like
Rotting seaweed eventually?
Daily tides shift the balance of our lives.
I’m hugging the shoreline now,
Hearing the crack
With the scent of rotting flesh,
I suspect my own,
Surrendered to the sea.