The instances of botched drownings have been
increasing. People jumping from city piers,
coastal cliffs, driving miles to walk into the sea.

Too many coincidences are called something
else. Rupture. A stray radio signal brings in new
voices from the natural world, whale-

song on the way to work, the falling pitch
of the subway sounds like bearded seals
from Svalbard, makes folks change trains.

They are throwing their bodies like empties,
glass bottles with nothing inside, to the call
of the sea.

But the ocean regurgitates them from her aquarium
of transformation,

laying on the sand in a second pubescence, now
blue and female. Mother Carey’s little abortions.

Vestigial webs and gills are beginning to gum out
from their new skin’s salty blue mucus.

Photo by Ivan Bandura from Unsplash.