^{with a final couplet by e. e. cummings}

As Karen Blixen said, the cure’s the sea
—or sweat, or tears—but I prefer the sea.

In fact, it’s homeopathy. Why cry
with eyes baptised (if reddened) by the sea?

The metaphors of fabric come to mind:
cool silk or aqua velvet, summer sea

            (or better, come to body: intimate,
            enveloped skin on skin, the lover sea).

The bone-ache deep, the pains gone unexplained:
for now just dive, ameliorator sea.

The “mermaid’s tears,” smoothed glass or plastic: lovely
but hazardous to creatures of the sea.

This evening’s rough: Poseidon snaps my straps.
Pathetic fallacy, bipolar sea.

And in their one-piece suits, the ladies age
and silver, laugh and rage: September sea.

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea.