Morning on the Diving Raft
One sits atop, feet
dangling, hand raised;
his skin absorbs the sliver
of a newly risen sun.
Staring across the strait, he searches
for a ship breaking the horizon,
or closer in, beneath a swell,
the tail-flick, the breast, of a mermaid.
Another stands below on the platform,
still wrapped in the morning shade.
He gazes into the shimmering
mirror of blackness,
at the penetrating bore
of his own eyes.
The others are as old as they can be
at their age: girls, still
and quiet like everyone else,
wait for the rays. Boys
sit apart, heads bowed
as though dejected, intent
on doing nothing more.
But one child toes
the edge of the middle board,
his knees bent, trembling,
an open hand to his mouth.
Chills run through his frame.
It’s his first time to be
so exposed. Unlike the others,
he still remembers the once
amniotic absence of air.
He’s the one we should give
attention, the one who can sense,
in the moments before the sun blinds,
exactly how an ocean moves,
exactly what lays in its depths:
monsters and lovers we’ve heard of,
drowning tides that course
beneath in wait,
or rise toward us.
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cU2AvkKA4kM
Another fantastic shot