There is a joyous impulse
within the mechanics of all happiness
to spill out of itself, the same motion of the ocean
composing waves from its own foamy liquidity
to adorn the thirsty shore.
It offers its briny devotion there, in turn
receding back to the sum of itself,
only to arise and surge again,
in mantric perpetuity.
This love play is all
impersonal tidal business –
wet praise and glory to it –
yet in the heart hold of the sea,
deep dreamless sleep now enchants
the many brave souls whose eye sockets
have become portals for tiny self-lit beings
to eel through in darkened slippery wonder.
Seeing nothing of themselves, they soundlessly
glide through an elegant ebony spaciousness
which no surface poetry can approximate,
even that fashioned by water savants
sublimed in their own element.
Wringing watery words from
my own sympathetic chemistry –
little fluid offerings on the altar
of uncharted aquatic desires –
I sift, smiling, through the silence
of nocturnal languidity, harmonized
with those same sightless creatures
of sunken submarine serenity,
where all concealed is now
revealed as the presence
of my own being.
From the depths I offer
Salutations to all drowned
and drowning ones, my Dears –
where even light can’t penetrate,
no chalice made of name or form
shall any more contain us.