Caribbean silk
Caribbean silk sheaths, shifts.Sinuous tendrils of seaweed weave-
caress as I pause before
the coral-ed gates to the purple grotto.
Barracuda noses into sight: rapier guard
to the inner sanctum.
I hang,
weightless, waiting
until he relaxes and swims lazily away
into the turquoise morning.
Startling a puffer fish into full bloat
I fish for my camera.
Unworldly shafts of sun silver through coral crevices
dappling mauve and magenta sea flowers,
a kaleidoscope of butterfly fish turn iridescent
as they move in unison, dancing to the music of the deep.
There are tales of hidden treasure,
of Spanish coins lost here some long ago day
yet I muse of flying with golden mermen
or riding a silvered porpoise charger.
Clown fish screwdriver through anemone fingers,
their orange and white sparkling
and I drink it in greedy for more;
my thirst not yet satisfied, my eyes dilating
as I shift to avoid a jam of jelly stingers;
reaching, searching, mezmerizing.
Tide turns, ebbing the pull.
I surface within the purpled grotto
breathe salty tang, eye clinging crabs,
note I must orchestrate my return.
Laden with photographic treasures,
with gleaned memories, I fin
upward to grey-green cloud of hull
watching as bubbles spiral into light
then turn for one last look: Seahorse salutes
my return to whence I came.
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