Forgetting The Once-Shore

They shiver and shriek until the bloodless veins within them constrict beneath the aridity of the once-shore, on which they repeatedly collapse. I fear them. I swing my other leg over before setting the sky’s provision in place. I fear them. I push, and I push. We are carried and shaped as we fade into what is fine and what is light.

I have taken a moment to remember this to you, so that when you repeatedly collapse against the once-shore—and you will—we will push, and we will push. You will set the sky’s provision in place. You will be carried and shaped as you fade into what is fine and what is light.

I will shiver and shriek as the bloodless veins within me constrict beneath the aridity of the once-shore, on which you repeatedly collapse. You will fear me. Your hands will be filthied windows through which your eyes will long as orphaned children.

I am reminded of the once-shore as I tickle the water and taste the sun. By the time I reach the cliffs, I will not remember you.