Millions of Shipwrecks

are under the sea, some in the shallows, some so deep even the burrowing fish know them not. When, at the end of the long pier you meet the rail the flimsy rail, that separates you from all the drowned, do you see the storms, bombs, shells, or kraken that took them down, or do you see the leaping dolphin, the sky-blue infinity upon a gleaming silver coin? Do you imagine the sunlight rebounding off the curly legends of mariners, tattoos nibbled and yet talking still of the last and first foot they put upon this watery space, where even the familiar is alien. If you follow their paths down to where the devil dances in his fishbowl (the one you smashed with a flying elbow, just an accidental jab that took the wind out of your world until now), do that, then never go upon the sea again.