When the riptides come she scours

her eye sockets into tortured oceans—

tries to swallow the entire ocean—

palms shoveling at each intrusive

grain of sand—cornea’s auras

like great whales fluking

through dangerous capillary currents—

she wants to pluck out each eyelash—

clear her beach lids—make room

for safer, milder tides—a harpoon

to the pupil is less deadly

than the surge of salty brine

tugging her toward deeper water.