She says to me, "Come listen to my chant," the
voice blue, bold, cool, cold. The ocean talks in her language, the sirens call with their long fingers, hair flowing golden in the thick blue-black darkness. "Join me here in the depth where it is quiet, where it is cool, bold, dark, and cold," and I almost go, but I back away at the very last second to the warmth of the sand, bury my feet up to my ankles and feel the heat creep into my joints. Sea Speak, syllables, foreign syntax I cannot speak but fully understand. The desire to join her is so strong that her voice in my ears is deafening, like waves crashing on the shore. A photo of her is my only memory once I am gone. Sea Speak Sea Speaks Ocean Talks Ocean Speaks Ocean Speak Sea Speak.