Where for once,        we don’t chase daylight— daylight chases us,        smears her honey hands across         our sun-starved backs                 until we glisten        like newborns plucked ripe from the womb.

I am such        a summer thing, such a bath full of brine, such a Salish Sea         siren screeching to nocturnal vessels at midnight.        O, but in daylight,        look how my lion prow sheds        salt scales         & tilts her gilded face        toward the sun.