There’s you,
coming up to breathe
for but a few heartbeats
before returning to the
deep, where there’s none
other than those who
belong.

Oh, what a marvelous space,
inverted space to be exact,
to live and float while
still retaining our right to
drift, kick and scream
to noone else but us.

At several leagues I
heard a sound that gave
my neck a chill, but not
the kind that makes one small,
instead the kind that feeds
gigantism in the icy north’s
hadal spheres.

From there, the rest seem lightyears off,
and closely similar in kind and way,
but as you rise at speeds that would
give a man the bends, those waves
will wash away the frightened guppy
until only the brave and strong remain.

It’s a long way down for sure, to
those who couldn’t sense or feel
that rush of bubbling need for fresh
and clean sky in the lungs,
so now theirs hold about a
half dozen wet litres each,
the poor fools.

But what a sight it was to see,
to watch the whitecap gleam
above a newly capsized crew,
and presently neath the sun and
moon and stars at same time;
to hear the truest form of life
that came from both high and low;
now that was worth a second look,
or a third.

And there was I,
wading with my
smallest green lure
and bishaded buoy,
and nothing else was.