When we became kings,
we broke the lion’s jaw,
cast its teeth into a crown
and threw the rest of the animal
back into the ocean.
We stayed by the shore,
because in winter we could build,
tall columns, weaving in between like children.
On these days I think about my daughter,
how old she’d be now,
a girl, cupping the sea between her hands,
blowing its foam across my face.
I would’ve kept her by the sea,
taught her how the waves will inherit us all,
pulling the body with ten thousand hands,
under, back to the bottom.