WARMING

There’s too much water in the world;

You burn up breath and give back rain:

waterlogged words that make for

anchor-dragging going.

Who am I?  The sea tells me nothing. 

My mirrored face in ruffled waves

is tortured, not tamed. 

You think I cling to jaws

of heartless rocks by choice;

that I’m lure, not lament?

I must sing of a world where

even the whales will drown

and no Jonah can be safe,

but who among men understands?

So I’ll cut my hair, splice my tail,

don dark glasses, grave face.

I’ll walk wobbly onto your parched,

dry land; bask in hot sun and play cool.