In the darkness, a dark expanse of water,
then a sudden flash of iridescence —
your own shine, reflecting in the night.
I reach out and try to touch you, but my hands
only touch water, they pass right through the dark,
through the shimmering quicksilver light, the shine,
through time and liquid space with all of its illusions.
Our bodies are bathers, they love to float in warm
dark waters that bless them and wash them clean
of the world, of the thousand little human insults
that leave their tiny cuts and gashes, the scar-like
lines and traces marking the faces of the old ones.
The closer to death they come, the more beautiful
they become, as if they are prepared at last to melt
into the dark waters, leaving only a sudden flash
of iridescence to mark their final passage.
You once went with them and came back, took me
with you and we came back, we kept leaving
and returning, but now there is neither
here nor there nor place to drown.
We became the sea, dark water —
no flash of light, no scar
to tell a story.