"when you split/ you turn your blood/ blue & pour/ out more ocean…” – Denice Frohman, ‘once a marine biologist told me octopuses have three hearts’

At three in the morning
stars and bats begin to retreat,

I drag myself across faded cobblestones,
dewed crabgrass,
slide across blue sand to shore’s edge.

There are petals placed in lines to the four winds
so I gather red palm roots
to tie parts loosely together

in case frenzied moon-winds
are too much for us…

I lay like a sculpture, space between me and sea,
smoke damiana cigarettes

which feel heavier against misted air.

After I sink my feet as far as they will go,
I drift-walk back,
cover path with citrus peel and maize.

When dawn breaks,
I repaint my room hue

of glitter in the dirt, a sea-monster’s



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