top of page
the tide rises, the tide falls | an oceanic literary magazine
Metamorphosis
by
Noa Kizhnerman
I float facing the same direction as the dying sun. It sinks
at approximately 8:22 p.m., bleeding itself out over the
bay like an open wound. Shimmering waters steadily lap
at the shores of my stomach. When I put my face underwater
& open my eyes, the inside of the water is the color of the sun.
This poem will appear in our upcoming Sand Dollars: A Little Book of Little Poems print anthology.
bottom of page