She plays the victim so often,
her small shaky voice
seems as tiny as she is,
those beautiful dark
   Russian eyes pleading
like rippling pools of fear...

And now she is here -
in this dark water -
no camera to record her fear,
no sound engineer
to capture her cries...
just a curious moon
spreading no light
as her slim form slips
almost imperceptibly
beneath the surface.

I wait in the cold current,
then surge forward,
grabbing her.

She's so fragile,
doll-like almost.
I can barely make out
her perfect features
in this troubled seascape.

I hold her firmly,
her face just above the wave.
We struggle in the darkness,
no ship's light,
no miracle lifeboat,
no compass, no guide...

I hold her tightly,
our breathing labored.
I hear her whispered prayers
like soft billowing epiphanies
carrying us
quietly   gently    safely
back to shore.