Sea Church

Give me a church

made entirely of salt.

Let the walls hiss

and smoke when

I return to shore.

I ask for the grace

of a new freckle

on my cheek, the lift

of blue and my mother’s

soapy skin to greet me.

Hide me in a room

with no windows.

Never let me see

the dolphins leaping

into commas

for this water-prayer

rising like a host

of sky lanterns into

the inky evening.

Let them hang

in the sky until

they vanish at the edge

of the constellations — 

the heroes and animals

too busy and bright to notice.