Drown

I have never been close to the sea. 

Always black, always distant and fickle

always spitting the dead corpse of a fish, 

or a knot of algae and weedy greens. 

I have always been scared of veils.

The sea, with her unstable cloak, her great facade

concealing creatures and stories;

unforgiving, swallowing all that comes in her way.

All that she offers me are knifelike stones 

that carve the ball of my feet, a trail of blood diffusing in the sand. 

And yet, I do love her. 

I come every night like a bewildered noctambulist

and listen to her vehement dance that grasps my ankles,

her submissive waves shattering against my body. 

I do not surrender; I hold onto the ground and absorb the pain, the frigidness 

that she hails me with. 

I always come back, defeated and frightened 

to find some sort of consolation in her. 

She is my only proof that I am not numb. 

Tonight, I will let go.

My fingers, desperately clutching at the erratic sand will unravel

and my feet will allow the algae to bind me with the sea -

an inexhaustible matrimony. 

The crevices and the cracks are no longer empty

as she fills me up with salt and water.

I longed for this all my life: for this indisputable love, this ardent treatment that no one offered 

but her.

I dissipate and dissipate

as I become one with the sea.  

Soon, she will spatter me out too

like a dead fish or a fossil

whose remains will erupt into a new life, raw and unbroken.

Endings, too, can be remarkable.