I am so many places
lonely. I think
I savor it, just me & Canada
boundary water speaking.
The water is not deep here
but tannin colored,
cold, spray tan orange like
all those fake tans from home.
My feet know when I’m
misplaced. Skin sheds off.
I pick & peel long strips
until I reach blood beneath.
I’ve settled ten hours south
in flat land, dry
corn & barren, a sad two
days drive from home.
I grew up in desert, a stone throw
from Pacific ocean. My body
yearns salt water,
the buoyancy & spitting waves.
Here I peel clothes off –
goose bump-cold. From dock I dip
head beneath, swim
not quite home but reaching.
