You see

You see a white shapeless luminance. It is bright through solid matter, through your eyelids the same as not. Keep them open. Put on the semblance of wanting to surface. The water is shallow enough to kneel in. You lay chest down with your dress rising and falling against the sand it sways filling with water and billowing then blown tight across you. The light and salt burn your eyes. Salt flumes in your eyes shimmer across finer and finer shapes etching out of the surface a horizon with indistinguishable attitude, and you sink again, your arms wilting ahead of you. Wet or dry you sag. You could be pulled anywhere in the world in a long long instant and be still a breath away from disappearing. You are always near the end, floating just before the tide, the rain washing through the desert, until it is dry and the edgeless wind blows you, or the clean hand of night reaches beneath your collar and replaces you with cold condensation. You would do anything, as long as it was nothing to you.