The amnic ocean calls, with
cresting waves, and the stain
of salt in my beard.
I am your
mother, she says, Survive, my
son, and I will save your soul.

Her promises are vanity, and I
am pulled into the gentle womb
of Night.
Mother, I shout above
her crashing on the shore, Lover.

The sun is dead, and the unseen
moon is tugging.
I am free, and
pound and beat the surf, and give
my sins to the Earth and Sea, and
claim new life from the rip tide.

The man is wild, reborn, covered
with salt, and dripping water.
I
am the Son reborn, and healed of
sin, forgiven by the flooding Sea.