Lost at Sea

On bad days I think we are swimmers
in the wide sea: clutching, pulling under,
each thinking to find a life raft in another.

On good days I think the same, only
I'm not so sure we know what's underneath.

I remember taking a deep breath of the water --
all rippling shadows, the lungs filling
with dark green light, my mouth full of something
stronger, deeper, older than air.

At first I thought the diamondback pattern
was a trick of subaqueous light along my skin.

But my lengthening tail, unrolling in the push and pull,
glittered just the same, each flickering scale
winking at the next, and we twined as we sank
in the slowly burning jewelry of our flesh.

Don't wait up for us. We're not coming back.