Hands bleed estuary light after the fifth

miscarriage, brackish, pebbles dancing
across the water surface, land to salty sea

my failing body, counting heartline
lifeline, when will the water turn

the moment when you know.
I’ve been practicing entering face first

cold immersion, reappearing it’s me
eyes closed for re-emergence

push pull against a tide, softening.
Today all solids have become liquid

waves, fluid energy, it’s still possible
only just to see demarcations

melting sky pastels like an outline of hope 
but it’s illusory. Shape is determined

by particles moving. There are no lines
no colour, there is only wind on the surface

a temporary point of entry, immersion.
Today’s loss, tomorrow’s armful

imagined before another plunge.