Kelp.

The answer.
wrapped or braided.

You were told to make your feet like a book,
to open and read their bottoms.

With this green could it be more like a sandwich?

Sharp edges in all your dreams,
always a place called home,
but unrecognizable.

Then there’s a bone fishhook wizzing through the air.

Blue and white waves inked onto fine linen.

Peel back the skin –
there, the salmon’s trapezius. Clenching,
electric pulses dissipating in the current.

You wrap it tight, keep the metatarsal cozy,
and there might be a bed
to sleep in at the end of the road scraping in the dark.