I always feared the open sea
the shore on the horizon, too far to reach,
and the depth below that could encompass me.

that like a whale carcass I might sink to zero degrees,
to a lonely grave, the sinews of my bones leeched
away in the macabre dancing gravity of the sea,

blobs of fat and sponged skin, colored dark rosemary,
as it glistens in the distended membranes of benthic leeches,
all these depths that twinkle with their ability to digest me.

these detritivores drift then onward, unstable certophyllacaea,
wanderers without time, woven in existence foreign to speech,
predatory—a reason to always fear the open sea.

and wanted it too, though to a lesser degree;
to feel myself come apart and transcend some mortal breach.
why shouldn’t I let the sea consume me?

this death drive, this internal hell, my body’s violent decree
to end it all, despite what Eros might beseech.
yes, I always feared the open sea,
and loved it too for how it could destroy me.

– Grace Katherine Gay