Public Republic

Jeremy Paden

Photo: ganesha.isis

If I cannot be your shine, your floating thing,
let me be your loricate, sea cradle,
fastened to the belly of your rock. I can
live in the saltiest of your waters. I will
sing you songs of the days when all the world
was ocean, and moon our only mistress.
If you will not let my scarlet mantle
cover you, your want; anchor you, your drift;
if you must follow the tides as they pull
away, ride the gyre to colder waters,
thick with krill and shrimp and sharks, think of me
in this tidal pool beside this sea worn glass.