Mother Ocean, 
We cannot swim. 
 
We carry you inside, 
though we are dense, 
asleep.
 
We have waited thousands of years 
for one sacred sound, 
for the one that was before the Word,
the one that would awaken 
the waves within. 
 
A sound without shape, low, 
closer to human
further from culture, 
almost a vowel 
but gone to the wild
before even the throat 
can catch it.
 
The alchemical abracadabra,
empowering our capacity
to swim on shore.
 
On the floor
we explore,
moving to the pace
of the underworld,
to the memory
and visitation
of snakes 
and sparrows
and lizards.
 
The traffic outside
continues. Politics
fracture friendships. 
Fear threatens
to limit all freedom.
 
But Octopus frees  
all inhibition,
torches us with  
compassion
and we weep without
sorrow.
 
It doesn’t matter
where we go next.
 
For a moment of eternity
we have eyes 
that see through our skin
and limbs
in all directions.