Under the Surface of Things

If we have to see the fishes closer and immerse ourselves under the surface of things I put on the wetsuit The diver's paraphernalia And I let myself go to obscure distances And think no more at the air, which usually fill my lungs … I am a ludion suspended in waters Tickled by shoals of fish that roam Caressed by jellyfishes, eager for a country , One above, which they are not allowed As I am no longer allowed for sunlight So low, beneath tons of moving liquid. That is, across the border turbulent waves, A reserved area, where the feeling of feet wouldn’t be enough And that includes me, and swallows me Like all the certainties of dry floor … And cuttlefish lend me their naval ink Writing for the memory of the abyss, The silent vrombissemnt of orcas passing The strange lanterns of monkfishes And the maze of colorful corals and anemones Dancing with the warm currents Barely the memory of man And an oblique wreck, portholes with crimped Shells and rust, with its scale Hanging on the railing of useless.