So, the ocean refused to stay a tourist. 
So, G-d doesn’t give with both hands. 

We are wading in as little clothing as crabs, 
brown bags, 
brown bags with liquor in our wet hands. 

Who could save the this in us? 

More than once, we swam around dying 
for a minute. A look to the heavens, spent, 

the sound of a crash, a currency, a beating. 

We will miss what did not belong to us, 
yes. 

In wake of our absence, we submit 
wallets of breath to the ocean floor.