This water wants you dead,
this is something that most learn early;
you are young, you are free, sand at your feet
and then you’re four feet below,
just above your height
clinging to a stranger’s arm to free her gasp
she will let you go just this once,
but the sea will always call back.
And I long for her voice,
rough at the edges and young
the way she combs her hair back
between the gaps of her fingers
her eyes wide, curious, shell-shocked
I will be buried not in a prairie
rather the waves, endless, persistent