On days you aren’t sure you have a face,
and your heart flops and gasps on dry land,
walk outside into the rain. See how you steam
the air around you with your own electrolytic sea; 
imagine all the turtles and anemones that call you home.
You are still half ocean, after all. When you remember
that inside the fins of whales reside hands, skeletal
structures so much like our own, thumbs and all,
the great loneliness of the world lightens
toward morning. Pour the coffee. 
You already carry the story
of this precious world
inside you.