The moon and deep dark sea

The moon is a silvery dress floating over the sand to the sea.

Her light creates shadows among the dark damp grains, tendrils of seaweed wrapping around strong ankles.
Witch castles, dried and forgotten, crumble under sure steps.
She whispers to her frothing companion, the thunder of his answers echoing over salty skin.

Her light reflects in the rolling water, the waves storied with different lands and the same fiercely speaking stars.
Her feet sink into shifting earth, creatures wriggle and draw her deeper in.
Knees wet and trembling she kisses the drops against pale hands, tastes the damp comfort of home.
Thighs drift in an ocean of silk and thread, the moon meeting its horizon in the velvety night.

A wall of white foam approaches.

Her lover has come to embrace her in liquid tentacles, icy edges caressing her arched back as she dives in.
She smiles as her heavenly bodice floats around her belly full of breath, corsets of bone returned to the sea.

Tumbled and torn open, her heart sinks into the shell strewn ocean floor where it sighs and weeps,
 “I am here. I am ready.”

Her fins meet solid ground, her gills fill with droplets of air.

The moon emerges from the sea, as it has every night for eternity, seen or felt or not, the loom of possibilities blinding those waiting for her on shore.

Her shape has changed, as it always has, and the myths to be told of the marriage of moon to deep dark sea
have been told,
are being told,
will forever be told
in this drenched and luminous moment.