My name is dragged out to the ocean
buried under crabs and relics.
I find a new name in the corners
of every rose’s delicately twisted lips,
every gull’s wings knifing gray sky,
every foreign flag I am blessed under.
My tongue coils like algie, replaced
by your snaking fingers with something
better, an empty snail shell.
Guilermo waits at home for you
on his side, a solider wounded
bleeding saltwater. He is a wonder,
stuffed with sand, a monument of
Normandy. Her coast curves into ridges
down his spine. Her angels gather here,
underneath her dazzling northern sun,
as he is waiting to die a good death,
as all good men must.
Two dead fish, my heart
and his body. Beached
on a new continent,