I've found I can breathe water...

I've found I can breath water?

I've found I can breath water, with the mouth of air
a jellyfish (unnoticeably dead) left on the shore at Durdle Door.
Clay and silt mate where I gasp, the ocean a brown mouth and a
sewer.

Dawn comes like a veil
celibate and grey as the genitals of crabs.
It need not matter, the sky is barely missed.
The morning tide moves all colonies- prawns and old mussels,
small,
puckered anemones.

By noon the giant, blunt sun breaches three inches,
moves the water like air, presenting beige, breathing parasites.
These have crawling segments, nibbling over the curled hair that
disguises
my thick legs - my belly - the clefts at my thighs.
Silky webs like the membranes of eggs are fans
between bitten fingers.

Easy to swim in unending blindness
where only the blood of basking sharks, clean and foreign, wakes
me.
I've found I can breath water. Only this quenches my eyes.
Though filthy, only this never dies.