Today my backyard is the sea—
its loam smells of salt and fish,
its metal chairs are cast nets, full
with the morning.
I float on this uncertainty:
the ground beneath my feet is water,
I am its fruit, and will return to the ground
in an everlasting baptism.
As I swim into this precarious life,
each stroke trails me as memory.
Reminds me that I am physical.
What part of me can claim
to be more than body, earth, water?
Be still.
The grass laps my feet and I swim on, unsure,
but whole.

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