Cliffs along the estuary,
dry an hour before, are striped
with long white threads
聽as if a spider spinning a water web
drops a string from the top
聽to the sea below, then scurries up,
聽drops another line and one again.
Steeped in rain, bats take on
colors like a sea-licked stone.
Some turn into starfish, five arms
fastening onto rocks below the tide.
The ocean and the sky shake hands,
collaborate to make the world
liquescent. As you dive down,
your lungs expand. How you love
the webbing between your toes,
your thicker skin, the beam
shooting from your forehead
powered by your radiant cetacean brain.
