I breathe like a fish at home

in the waters of Saint Mary’s Bay.

I swim around and around

and feel my weight cascade

me down to the bottom

of the briny deep.

Starfish light the way

past undulating eel grass

and slumbering fat carp.

Sunlight streams lavishly through

hovering shadows that whisper of love.

The seascape resembles

a Byzantine mosaic of purple

sea snails and anemones.

Schools of mackerel swim by,

welcoming me in an ethereal ballet.

I will never hook a fish again.

Bubbles of souls ascend

wearing the beatific smiles

I once saw in Yucatan faces.

A gate with a gold benevolence

has threadbare silver antennae

and opens to a mysterious canyon

that looks like an Estruscan tomb.

It encloses a huge whirlpool

of a secret ceremony of mirrors.

My present loneliness vanishes.

Peering intently at my reflection,

I discover my original face

before I was born.