Perigree and Apogee

When I hold her hand,
Talk,
Hear the night breaths of my mother,
I check on the moon.
Is there a darkling brume,
Rivalry as in love or aims,
Reproach,
Grief over wasted time.
Cancer.
Or tiny platelets gathering in congress,
So intent on duty.
The mission clear.
Sometimes the best laid plans.

When I swim out in warm waters
I feel the moon pulling.
Salt stings me blind and
The din of a million tons of seawater
stops my ears.
I am plankton, seaweed.
A Monk Seal approaches;
Powerful jaws.
He blinks at me with intelligent eyes.
Yes, I know.

Then uninvited, a chill.
Water rushes the sand
Sinking through its porousness.
I choke against the pulse,
My limbs are not made for this.
I can feel a looming aspect
Antediluvian, massive.
It is not there,
It is.
With me.
I clamor up the sand.
And know,
I haven’t learned to float without fear.