She stills,
makes space like a seascape
deep and wide as mystery
she buoys me.
The waves she makes
don’t break—
my head’s submerged
in perfect words:
she’s practiced, listed—listening.
I am a child lulled, by her
faultless recreation
of a pulse.
I sink into equivalence
like I don’t know the difference
and she swims—and swims—
and swims—
like her horizon is a lifeline
that hasn’t
swallowed time.
Featured image by Sebastian Voortman on Pexels.
