Sunshine and visibility.The word is go.
We cram
into wet
suit, hood, gloves,
strap on weights,
vest and tank,
crank air
open. Constricted
by the mass
of these necessities
trudge forward
on sand
with snorkel, fins
and flash-
light in hand, a
prayer to Jacques
Cousteau,
we approach the lip
of the sea.
Feel like fall-
ing in, stay
perpendicular
to shifting sand.
Don fins as a bully
surge pulls,
pushes. Deep
sigh, the sea
takes the weight.
Relaxed, we go
under:
bright orange
lights--garabaldis
dash by, their wide
eyes oblivious
to our size, bass
less ostentatious
blend with kelp
Oh, the species
of sea spinach:
sprawling grass-green
grasses, never
mowed, boas of
fox-tail brown,
columns of pea
green kelp ascending
thick to surface, their
tendrils curling around
my fins, inspire
panic until I
unfurl myself.
You see a seal,
white with brown
spots watching me
untangle. By
the time I'm free
he's invisible
to me. I make
do with teeming
visions of sheeps-
head, bonita, opal-
eye, and bass
punctuated by
silly garabaldis.
And lobsters,
dozens of them,
hidden in the rock
castles they
call home.
