X. Maroon


Limp, exhausted,
she washes in,
with the incoming tide.
Along with debris from her raft,
and self.
She wakes
from the scrape of beach sand
grated against her cheek.

He stares out
At the water,
it is crystal clear.
His makeshift ship,
To his back,
on it
he considers attempting
to set sail.

She now learns to walk
on land
and to comb sand.
She is not the one
who left shore
so long ago
–this creature who grits teeth,
And holds in
and twists legs into tail,
and arms wrestling waters
And demons
Of mind, air and sea.

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