I am not quite thirty again
\non a beach under a three-quarter moon
\nslung low in the sky, stars pricking
\ndarkness & so cold where the tide
\nrushes in, swirling ankles then knees
\n& you swooping me up in your arms
\nlike any fantasy of rescue & I\u2019m ravished
\nin John Donne\u2019s sense of the word
\n& pretty much every sense
\nof the word, licked up & down my spine
\nby freezing flame, slicked wet
\nlike a dog in the rain, every nerve
\nbuzzing bees in a beauty bush June\u2014
\nit happens every time I return
\nto memory\u2019s long, low curve of cold sand,
\nthe swallowed surge of a wave,
\nheld breath knocked out & away
\ninto liquefaction & release,
\nan icicle held in your warm, bare hand.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In a myth from the southern sea
\na woman loved a god
\nin the guise of a bull, or maybe
\nit was the sea, or maybe
\nit was a bull made of waves
\nthat came from behind
\nall muscle & surge
\nto her knees, waist, chest,
\nthroat, mouth & eyes, then left
\nwith the morning tide.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
They say she near died, burned
\nby sorrow & salt & sun
\nbefore she thought to build
\na bull of wood she could live
\nwithin. For she was also a god
\nwho could drain all she filled
\n& fill all she drained
\nlike us, who daily dwell
\nin a world that swallows us whole,
\nwhile we take it, holy, inside.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Rebecca Foust Ocean Beach I am not quite thirty again on a beach under a three-quarter moon slung low in the sky, stars pricking darkness & so cold where the tide rushes in, swirling ankles then knees & you swooping me up in your arms like any fantasy of rescue & I\u2019m ravished in John […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":8371,"template":"","categories":[9,49,119],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-8368","article","type-article","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-aquifer","category-literary-features","category-poetry"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n