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.
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