Deep Water

Ages sleep, rock-mysterious: the fossils of lava flooding senses fathom
by the lights of fish blind themselves in their own darting schools,
pearlescent as targets only carbon’s neon strobes
dates back the awakenings of.

Should, like this, we come to our moment’s typical fog-risen drops,
will where we come from make a different sense?

Look, having the knowledge of a glass-bottom boat turned upside down
but managing to float still, the portals of this cabin
detect each ganglia & synapse as Christmas light tangles
in winter’s indigo nights of long reflective depths.

Neurons are sparks & the lightning sky marble-flecked
with clouds of lucid mesh at first as dark as bruises –
grey, then purple – before stellar air churns up brighter white.

Here, feelings drift, felt-plush, as the petals of reddest roses,
artificial but for the dust which mom’s legacy was, for us,
to brush & brush in the recurring memory of light,
our ocean voyage of blood’s viscous thickness.

Liner to liner it beats through the mist with the purification of candles
as, departing waves call our ghosts, our lost coasts,
at last by known names