Bury me in a kelp forest

body to lay in the limp arms of the almost elms.
they harbor timid fins of lion fish.
i won't sink- i won't float.
i will be a park ranger to
give tours to seals and orphan
egg sacks attempting flight.
there will be a kind of silence that makes us
forget that there was ever sound.
the kelp moves without lips.
no teeth.
chews on the sun.
marinades me like stuffed grape
leaves- oil tongues.
i think about terrestrial forests.
i think about soil toes.
i think about red hawks.
i think about worms cut in two.
i think about aerial views
from airplanes and red hawks
when they fly above the canopy.
i think of the top of my head
as a dot on a bingo board.
pocket engorged with acorns
and smooth stones.
i imagine the kelp forest
has rivers and voles under the sand.
i remember how i had always tried
to get lost in forests- disorient 
myself.
i reject the trail.
i don't float, i don't sink.
I turn.
the tree behind me is nothing but
a mirror of those in front of me.
I bubble beat-breath.
I sleep.
I sleep in the limp arms of the kelp.
i float. i sink.