Eyes were bait fish to be plucked near shore
and lifted into a luminous plume of net
but mine bit hard at the severe silver gleam –
liquified platinum in laminar flow. A tiny
crucifix of alloy shine, with a dull, low purr
and muffled rumble; its propeller spooling light
and spinning like a flaking tumbler of mercurial
glass pushing past tidelines at too slow a pace to
abandon its silken gather of anchor, calling to mind
how sudden descent often follows the weighted anguish
wayfarers carry, leaving us directionless, not knowing
what’s ahead or behind, sputtering through offshore
winds and slowly falling apart within an immense hollow
of blue ether just as we approach the deepest of waters.
