Haze

Through a haze the voices come
and barely touch the ground
on which I lay.
I am covered in weed,
wet from the waves in which they came.
A creature of the shore,
everyone stares at me.
I stare right back,
unafraid and smiling.
It is almost as if I can no more get hurt,
bleed all my blood out and yet stay alive.
The ground never gives way, but moves
aligned to my feet.
He asks me to sit, when all I'd rather do
is move,
move all the rocks from my shore,
and let the waves touch me
undisturbed, unhindered.

My feet leave no mark behind,
as if the memory was false
or never meant to be.
But I can re-enter this haze,
climb much higher along the slope
and refuse to come down
the next time.
I'd just put my feet up
and watch the waves.
Every crest like a bath,
washing away what was unclean,
until I am born renewed.

10/11/12