by Ariane Blackman

I feel as water
ghost slivers of fish
gliding just under my skin

I am cloak, misty vapour
floating over green spume

as nothing in this fog
distilled down to a point
wanting to take off

gulls shrieking in my air
cradle songs I almost own –
breath in, breath out

beset by this wild, dream dying
wide awake at last

— from Juniper Volume 2, Issue 3