Feet deliberately apart,
the waves join
where these toes sink.
“Somehow, it’s nothing like
the other time”, I say.
“What time?”, you ask.
“When I was a boy.”
Then, I noticed it all,
shore, sea,
the strewn shells to avoid;
they were razors.
Then, I was a blade too,
and when I swam
tides seemed quieter,
less dangerous.
