I sit on a dead headstone and watch feathers lay their bellies onto the bay’s surface and rock to the white crest’s rhythm. No one is with me except the echo of shoreline plea- a yearning for this Bohemian skirt to dive into every wave’s churn. I push the blue gravity not down through my feet, but forced upon these bones that could crumble me apart with a hard and gentle hand… but not when the water spikes white, U’s and reflects this surreal face that is my own. She loves me like passion. She drinks me through her pupils. She drowns my little existence until night crashes and paints ebony on backs.