Child in me.

Wet to the roots I was

In an oaky love, my yearnings

Hidden sky jewels

Numbed in my kin's silken cloak.

Left to unfurl in time, they went 

Unmauled by the winds outside

who were to judge the shine

And call their worth. 

Free of stalking night terrors and

The myriad of human evils, 

I did not taste the wine of

The wise to know the truth of

My own breath home alone,  

Footsteps on floorboards, or

The ripple of lonely prayers

In my midnight lagoon. 

Taps did not drip and 

Walls did not stare me out, 

Snatching at my necklace.

Don't let the smell of blood

Trickle through the pine of

Home; my mother's perfumed neck.

Sacred treasures should not

Be eaten in the greed of today

When forked tongues poke at

My curiosities, softened by

The alien saltiness

Of the Red Sea.

That taste, it keeps me afloat, 

Lets me sleep unsteady in

Our tide's eternal vicissitude.

Are they seen, these catching grains, 

As they crust and cling, never 

To be washed away? Shall my water 

Ever taste the same again?