Am I not to enjoy the world

even if it's dead?

Am I not to wonder if the mountains knew my name

or if the crows paused at my birth

if the rocks burst into dust?

I've learned my name is not Moana.

I released into the ocean

to find him rejecting me. Ghosts

crawl under the waterline

exiling me,

exposing their other-worldy nature—

satisfied by their creep and daunting postures

while the others, both, coach and sideline

the shoreline. Hm,

what it’s like to be alive

and unable to participate in life—

[daas. it’s Hindi] Anyway,

I rung my own dead burdens loose to the sun,

then stepped out dripping

with the Ocean’s tears. It’s all over—

The waves tire my heart & remind me

of my corpses. I mourn in the wind

& roll over to tan.