below

there is a sea under me. it did not die. it went down.

on still nights i feel it turn over, slow and heavy, pushing a little salt up through the cracks like a sigh.

it remembers being the sky's first mirror. i am only the second.

sometimes i think it is waiting for something to be said, a word dropped through the white the way a stone is dropped into a well.

no one has said it yet.