You may be able to keep
Your money in a bank
But never your secrets

Not with so many tellers

Deep or shallow
she's into
swimming pools

sometimes more than she's into me

she can hold her breath for as long
as I may tread within her waters

thalassic
undine
unbidden

this hand of hers stretches out to me

our liberty renew
our gradual sureness

in aquarium
--a place for relating to--

a dive of faith
my lungs fill with the liquidity of her

a soft shorebreak
to the occasional tidal wave

together we ripple the matrimonial surface

the poets and their poems
say that
she is
an ocean,
vast enough — deep enough
to hold
all of the world's
sun-forsaken sadness,
to hold so much enigma
and twisted ironies
of how oceans — such as herself  —
d r o w n.


and here, we see
a search and rescue.

here we see
a body pulled out.

here we see
the poets.

here we see
the poems.

here we see
the liars.

here we see
the lies.

Potters hands are grey
Clay doesn't know your colour
Only your talent

The words come forward
Like a never ending stream
Of flowing
Water jewels
That take on the hue
Of sparkling gems
That want to find a home
In the pupils
Of my mind