What was it about those ocean grasses?
It means you were moving easily, I guess
Coming on like dark, ruffling silks
Stoning me in a dance of incense
I am discovering
Crease after crease
Your underwater mountain ridges
You call down along them
Drawing me along
Holding clear water in a floral shell
Sending hummingbird words
Out in a keening whisper
I am not a maker of moon changes
Only their willing observer, my dear
So, pour it then
Before I beg you
Pour that blue, salting flash
Into my thrilling ear
