gummy shark

water is a sugar spirit.
we used to eat handfuls 
of monsters from a sweating sunset.
playing the horizon lines
like lute strings. a plastic bag
houses all my remaining needs:
to devour every wound, to swim
in water clear as glass,
to feel every circle ever turned.
in the sky above birds
for a ring to cut a hole in cloud.
water pours to start the next ocean.
in the bath tub as children
our bodies were just vessels 
for the final time. in a photograph
a shark lurks beneath the soapy water.
a reminder of how every water
is deeper than it appears.
stepping into a puddle & falling
through the city only to emerge
in a bed room for ghosts.
the blue of golf courses
is supernatural by which i mean
it carries worlds in its mouth.
really, we must eat. 
trac each other's earlobs 
like guard rails. pour sharks out
on the sidewalk & wait for them
to adapt. i grew a gill once
from so many years of living underwater.
took a thumb's worth of foundation
to hide the crease along my neck.
i chew my life's white belly.
feel fins chime in my teeth.