Motes in the Blue

Its eyes peer into the bubbles that are lungs,
watching as they burst and refuse to gasp for air.
The ocean spills from my lips as I summon it, whale song,
to sweep me away from the surface,
the pigment dyeing its hide blue.
Sea mines pulse as it passes by, erupting into jellyfish clocks
that snatch at my heart and chest to shock me awake.Clear.

Smother me in sediment, wrap me in coral,
split my skin with the shadow of sunlight
and let the deep rush in.
Help me dissolve, evolve, return.

Certificate: sea foam.


A tide of turning

The ink spills onto the page and becomes a river.

Tributaries branch out across several notepads,

soaking through outlines and spider diagrams,

manuscript versions one, two, three, four

final. Final Final. Final Final point one…

The river becomes so large it leaks into the ocean,

where a single bound volume


floats to the top, raising its head

like a whale, defined on page 1894.