Something in this landscape of birthing
before it collides that swells in us waves
sweating their chaotic cadences consuming
accumulated testimonies; the secret tensions
transformed from confrontations into love
for this headland of discarded inhibitions
and primal screams.
Here, the world confesses itself. We are
its echo, chorus, its refrain, borne by private
confessions of unrest to seethe with the sea
between our thighs with hope like steel
piercing our hearts.