What the Albatross Saw

I ran to the sea, my mother.
I ran to the sea alone,
And there by the edge of diminishing waves,
I picked up a skipping stone.

Then the stone became me, my mother.
The stone became me alone.
And the thrower looked west,
When he threw to the east,
As his hand lost its flesh to the bone.

I come from the sea, my mother,
Where the ghosts of lost mariners moan
That the deeper we go, then the deeper we get,
After skipping and sinking. Alone.