The surface is a tableau to travel.

You, who turns breath to mucus,

let it bubble and harden.


Create raft 

from the phlegm

of your foot.


Current shall carry 

you, who are too small

to command an ocean.


Your cousins on land take a whole 

day to traverse a garden, yet you float

a beach’s length in just one hour.

Your existence is counter-shade and camouflage.

From above, violent blends blue and indigo.

From below, your cloud flecks colour into sky.


Devour By-The-Wind-Sailors.

Feast on Bluebottle stingers.

Invert your world. 


Oh Purple Storm Wanderer:

begin as male & let ocean lick 

you into the shape of a woman. 


Now, crest on: leave swimming 

to fins and those pink-skinned things 

who collect your shell when you die.