She had been
kissed by coral,
scarred cheek skin,
her crown floral.
She carved the waters
on her board
like Triton’s daughters,
her heart unmoored.
Glistening swells,
golden-dew thighs,
bikini seashells,
Hawaiian skies.
Dudes paddled hard
to catch her wave
because she starred
as their wet-dream slave.
But she was flighty
and avoided such larks
which just might be
a frenzy of sharks.
Her body was found
on a peaceful day,
the ocean’s sound
a lullaby lay.
The water was flat
like a mirror so clean
it reflected all that
spread above that scene—
the clouds, the sun,
the seagulls and crows,
each sail and pelican,
the cuckoos and swallows.
But the one thing amiss
in the reflecting sea
was that dead detritus
ruining the facsimile.
When looking skyward
to see her soul in flight
there was not cloud nor bird,
but moon—bone white.

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