Godlings

godlings don't swim
they crawl
on the shallow waters of the sea
third-of-a-knee deep or lesser
they crawl as infant turquoise waves
lap gently on their breasts
the waves not expecting but not surprised
they lap back

the stately crawl reflects their belief
that the sea is there because they're there

when the sun-tanned arms of the gods that own them
lift them to a place where sand castles have not risen yet
they squirm to protest that they want to be consulted
on the choice
even if they hardly mind the outcome

without effort or sugar rush
they know what the gods don't know

their tiny hands
hold the sands
that hold the sea.