In those days we were all Odysseus

Sun scaled skin, actions bound in leather and cloth, here could be anywhere

Licked by heat, dripped in fire learning to shoot, craft of the ancients etched into palm

Building boats of our backs and rigging them with spit

What is it to dream of open water? To flit between and through the thought of home, wherever home is

Beneath the waves is a world pulsating with the same dull frequency as a heart monitor,

the blip deafened by tidal lull

In those days we were all fanatics

code tongues warp splutters to fill a secret summer that we had hid from the seasons

rain dances with lotus cups, thorns no flowers stretched up

reverent of no skyly power

so of course it was poseidon, whose child had washed up on the beach some three days later

who opened the sky

and we, midsummer tyrants, went back to our homes to dry our hair and 

wipe our eyes