by Shilo Niehorster

Looking at you, creation, I am alive again.
When I was living last, I thought you
Belonged to God like I did all of my
Favorites, and all of my bests. Now you are
Free. And you free me. The way the clouds
Encase and cushion you, violent sea, the
Sand is a stage upon which your moon-based
Moods dance and crash, as I once did and
Still do sometimes under the influence of
Different highs
And lows…
Your low tides, tide pools, pools of puddle-dwelling
Stars that I actually held in my scrawny
Unrighteous hands. You gifted me a
Pocket-sized star and cleansed my life
Each and every time you
Scraped my heart across the broken pieces of shells
Formed form the dust of our ancestor’s ashes.
Pain and shifts from your, our moon mother have
Hurled me into this.
I will go as I came, filthy, heavy with dirt from the
Earthly troubles, clenching my breath, into the sea.