The Divers

The Divers

The bubbles seemed feeble
intrusive and insignificant as flies.
Indeed, we are insect-like in comparison
crawling under this endless rug
more ancient than the trees huddled with birds
and termites.

The first end of the ocean erupted in color
a blush of red-lipped coral
yellow fish darted like taxies on the boundless blue highways.
We lost ourselves in green kelp forests,
playing Marco Polo when the tide came in.
We put anemones on our extremities
and wore shells in our hair
we drank wine from mermaid’s cups
and made lovers of ourselves in the tidepools.

Then we, the precious fools we are,
could not help but follow the riptide
to find out if sailor’s tales were true.
So we were strangled by squid
led astray by the lamps of murderous fish
our fingers clamped by angry red oysters.
They would not give us their pearls
not for the price we could afford to pay.

You occupy your own hillside now
taking up permanent residence in your crumbling lighthouse
where you blow dandelion seeds so they taste land
and grow rampant like we said we would.
I am still lying in the waves,
a drowning woman waiting to be rescued.
Ships have come, even kind canoes
other shipwrecked men have offered me their hand
but I cough in their faces.