You draw your knee closer to you in the sand,
tilt it, push it back
as the tide rushes out.

I knead my fingers behind me,
begin to stretch my stomach out, then stay 
upright, face incoming misting foam.

When you murmur that a dragon brings out your loud side, 
I suggest that it must have so many skills as jewels
and virtues as crowns,

ask if its gift is not one
of the greatest
we can give.

The corners of your lips 
curl, you exhale,
ask if I’ve a loud side.

I inhale,
hold,
choose,

say I do not identify
myself in terms of parts,
of noises, or quiets—

that I merely 
perceive of myself 
as having been freed or silenced.

first published in Corporeal