The marrow of my bones remembers well
The sorrow-song once sung into this skin.
The memory of hurt fragments this shell
‘Til waves of salted tears come rushing in.
Beneath the blue some peaceful hours I seek,
As though the water-womb were an ablution.
The tide of mercy carries hearts too weak
To wash themselves of trauma’s deep pollution.
No further shall I swim, for life’s on shore
Where tails do turn to mortal legs again
Which tremble ‘gainst the wind’s deafening roar
But buckle not beneath enormous strain.
Each day baptizes anew the saddened flesh
With morning rain comes cleansing water’s rest.
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