ocean/moon

If love is water, then I am an ocean.
I am motion. I gravitate to your battered
face. You hang, silvery iridescent,
circling. I move under your gaze, wake
to see you wink and lap against beaches
in anticipation. You draw me close, you pull
me, inch by pained inch. I stay up with you.

You sleep without me through the day
and I wait. The sun is too bright
for you, too garish. I want to find you, pull
you from your resting place and lay you to sleep
in my depths. More I want you to see me, to know,
to be free from the tossing and turning
of my surface. I want to send you searching.

Walk my floor, untrampled by the unruly visitors
who tread my shores. Your feet would fall carefully,
I know. I'd call lanternfish, Jack-o-lantern gaping
mouthed swimmers to light your way in the darkness,
to turn murky waters clear with a swish
of their tail. I'd assign you a mermaid, a migrant
from some warmer sea to detangle your feet
from the weeds, fallen moon-lover, to hold your hand
as you sought beauty and truth in the lit black.

I could never keep you. I know this but I would hold
you for one day, just one. When night fell I would lift
you and carry you until all sunlight was gone.
You would bob, a buoy, not yet illuminated.
As you rose, found your place in the sky
my waters would leave your face. All traces would dry.
The only thing left would be a touch of salt, a bitter
bite left on your skin. You would look down
and I would look up at your face, just turned
away, but with one eye rested on me.