Caressing my face,
Bubbles rush to greet me
Tickling like a sweet spring sigh.

This is only the first.
I am still half
A visitor. Stuck in suspension
Between this world and mine.

Slowly I pass
Through the threshold.
My air-sick ears adjust
To the sounds of the sea.

I stare down
At the small colony
On the sea floor,
My landing gear is down.

Customs arrives.
A grey, French Angelfish
Of the most industrious kind.
But he isn’t obtrusive.

As he flits in and out
Checking my bubbles
Ensuring I am not bringing
Any more air than I should.

No doubt he will stay near
Most of my stay
I have finally arrived,
The coral city stretches before me.

I catch the current trolley
And it whisks me past
Rocky storefronts and coral motels.
Lobster shopkeeps

Rush out of dark
Stores and stand in the street
Giant claws raised
Toward me in supplication.

Beckoning me to come
And browse his wares
While a fish I don’t know
Is busy cleaning homes and stores.

They must’ve dropped out of the school
Which passes by
The pupils in matching uniforms
Of flashing silver and black.

Clown fish wave
To me from their Lawns
Of sea anemone
Before darting back inside.

Here is the kind of place
Where I could put down roots.
Live out an idyllic life
Living in a coral townhouse.  

But for me to stay
Would be severely fatal.
I’m just a visitor
And my visa is about to expire.

I look back one more time
As my head breaks the surface.
The sun stings, I blink.

don't think about the farmer's market and sitting at cheap plastic tables that felt like they could blow away as easily as a hat in chicago
don’t think about the styrofoam bowls filled with rice and teriyaki chicken that you couldn’t eat and the napkins that always got scattered everywhere
don’t think about the singer under the tent who’d strum and hum and provide the perfect ambience as the sun was getting low in the winter
don’t think about how the burgundy sweatshirt was almost too big for his frame and how it would swamp yours completely, sleeves easily surpassing your fingertips
don’t think about how the buzz of shoppers and shopkeeps merely mirrored the buzz of excitement that radiated between you both
don’t think about the way he’d laugh with a napkin over his mouth and pull his shoulders up, clearly nervous
don’t think about the way his eyes lit up at the mention of certain subjects and how he’d rattle on about them
don’t think about how miserable he seemed at the thought of school but how quietly joyful he became when you said you’d be glad to pick him up after if he’d like
don’t think about how you saw the difference you were making and were so glad to have him so close

but really, just don’t think about how
the sun made you squint and you sat across the cheap plastic table from him in his hated burgundy school sweater with his chicken and rice
and the way you had to tilt your head slightly to hear his soft voice over the rolling energy of the crowd
and that you were allowed to touch again and how you gladly took advantage of that to calm your own nerves
and how you couldn’t even imagine half the things that have happened since that first day you got lunch.