How We Collide

How We Collide

Zoe Migicovsky

The ocean has arms,
   she reaches for the moon
I reach for you, caught in the waves
it's more than magnetic when
   you cannot escape,
   you don't want to run.
And the sand is just a brittle picture frame
as the seashells sink deeper
I'll hide my feet in destiny, paint my lips
with salt, every kiss will be as bitter
   as saying goodbye
because the ocean chokes
she thrashes like drowning babies
   sputtering up excuses.

And the sky is dark as the ocean's skin,
embracing the earth's hollow body,
   intense, fiery, core.

I walk the shore, seeing neither the
   fractal perfection
   nor art drawn by a shaky hand
but simply the tide aching for my feet,
the coastline is a timeline
   and I've heard this story so many times;
history does not repeat itself
history does not end
history is the ocean.

You are lost inside it.
I think I see arms, flailing white light
in the darkness;
   you are much too far away to save.
Still I long to join you, amongst the midnight
thrashing waves, cold as your skin,
white as the moon we cannot touch.
Until the ocean becomes subtle and calm,
   finally washing our clean bodies ashore.

The water is a grave for things not yet dead.