no house made of stone,
the current charts its own course.
my boat rocks me soft.
a cracked porcelain bowl,
the one treasure from the waves.
it holds water well.
an old wooden hull,
swallowed by the salt and time.
it was a good boat.

the world above is forgotten,
weightless,
i am home.
a dark, quiet peace.
no clock's ticking hand,
just the sun and moon's slow dance.
i move with them both.
the storm will soon break,
my anchor is not in sand.
i dive deep and wait.

the reef's vibrant song,
a thought that drifts through the deep blue,
watch it let me go.
hunting spear finds fish,
a passing need,
not a wish.
enough is a feast.
the tide claims the shore,
my footprints were never there.
the hermit crab knows.

my children splash free,
they learned the sea before words.
their laughter is foam.
the deepest descent,
pressure tells a silent truth,
nothing is for keeps.
one final long breath,
i return what i borrowed.
the sea forever.