So I don’t remember

what I ate or when, but

I remember words:

food water air

gone.

You in your wood-bowl,

them looking at us

eyes red as gills.

 

They say now you’ve gone to the sea. Why

there? Why somewhere

I can’t reach you?

The salt would burn

the soul out of me.

 

Maybe next

I will ask to be a shark.

Not for teeth bite strong but

smell swim speed,

so I can find you

again. I’ll remember.