it was on all the news channels,
your shipwreck.
for miles,
and from distant lands,
whose soil
you never even met,
they traveled for you.
all around us
the promised ringing—
circle of:
banshee sharks,
phantom whales,
and reaching shadow tentacles.
glimmer—
you are sunken treasure.
but either from
the weight of your necklace,
or the summoning,
voodoo grasps of
gravity,
we were:
entranced in depth
and the fleeing
whiteness of your dress,
both them,
and me,
floating…
knowing full well,
where you go,
and that we could not venture there,
as our body-suits
could only take so much
pressure.
this, my dear, is madness:
the scent of your blood
drifting
in open water.