Author: Puppet


As light becomes spectrum
of blue to black
I finally can feel the pressure of an ocean
on my back.

Floating in a fall,
sinking into cold
(to undulate like jellyfish)
descending into black

I hit the bottom
(silent) ripple of sand
as bubbles escape me
to freedom up above.

Shapes in the shadows
in and out of visibility
like timber wolves hidden in the white of trees;
presence sensed,
only hinted at,
but never seen.

Once in the depths, I'm invisible always
(but only to myself).
In the frigid, naked, alien waters
I can feel my face's shape.

Only when I feel the deepó
pressed against my every cell
pressed against my whole
pressed against my imaginationó
do I understand the nature of a million years.


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