It’s only for a time,
they say with a sing-song certainty,
a sea shanty of soothing sentiments.
It’s just a phase,
a lunar shift, pulling lupine qualities
from your soft shell, a bitter twist of tongue.
As if you can
wish away the click of your hips,
slide on the skin long slithered out of.
Gather breath,
long exhaled and carried as whispers
across sea straits and stuff it back in.
Fill up your lungs with salt songs.
Though, you know,
you can whistle for the wisp of
you carried away upon the waves,
the tide does not take itself.
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