inner weather
the inner sea stirs fascia tightening like a net drawn in
heat crawls the spine a pulse flickering under bone as if old tension has started turning again
our seabed shifts silt rising as if remembering hands that once shook it loose
today draws itself close a seam pulling inward breath catching in the hollow of the ribs
far out a depth changes shape quietly the way pressure does before anyone claims to feel it
salt gathers at the tongue arriving early the whole body listening for whatever moves next