Let the shark camera declare our safety.
Let the lifeguard claim our taxes.

Let the rotting kelp assert the natural cycle
of life and death and rebirth,

and the trash convey to tourist and local alike
shame. Let the dolphins delight us

when they leap in the good pleasure
God must take in them,

and the boats on the horizon teach us
desire, and perspective. Let the kelp beds

whisper without end. Let it stop.
Let the pier groan under the weight of people

fatter than they used to be, dopey and distracted and
worthy of love, even when I hate them.

Let the water take my body and loosen it.
Let us be directed where to go, let us go.

Let us be taken up into larger bodies,
our only hope, and let me be free to risk within

that which grows old without regard for me
or for itself. The shark is compelled

by an appetite that like a sail pulls
instead of pushes. The lifeguard from the tower

runs towards figures blind to the dangers
they can’t help but dive into.

The boats on the horizon move
left to right along a thread in the sky.