There is a rising beneath
The shape of cresting wave peaks
Where light shines through and down
/
Into the rushes, cupped in the hands
Anemonae— between the bubbles and the air pockets
And pressurized space stained black and white and blue
/
This is the land of the deep, the deathly still
Where only the brave light of pyrosomes
Wan— cast upon the inkblots that pool in human hearts
/
Can fill with air the lungs that breathe
And float, and buoyed and bobbing,
Teach us to feel the warmth of sun again
/
So let it be known I combed the ocean floor
I paid in sleepless solo night sojourns
I sought the sacred in sands, tectonic rifts,
/
And elemental Pelagaic bits
Dark bits that, cupped in the hands—
Stronger now— squeezed— burst to stars