Out of Their Depths

Mind has got deep - lake deep, the kind of depth that is too dark for shallow eyes. There are bodies yoyoing up and down in that deep you can see them by the light of a full glass of moon. Are they the faces of dead fish airless now in a skyless water? Are they the remnants of rotting boats floating gradually to shore to be broken rafts for the dreaming? They surface one finger-nail at a time, their mouths always underwater long pale legs dangling. The buoyed-up, what are they doing, what revealing? Are they the casting lines and hooks are they fishing are they?