7 MINUTES ON THE BOTTOM

7 MINUTES ON THE BOTTOM

I immerse myself in the water that is your breath and slowly descend to its source
through the sun's rays spearing the graduated blue to your lightless places while
coming to rest on the floor of your deep.  Movement here uncovers skeletons as
narcosis taps my wrist also wanting to hold my hand.

Yet, the length of heated apple red kisses in the coldness of this deep reveal caverns
previously hidden and unexplored.  Here, your needs circle my arrival.  Here
swim your broken, your fractured, your useless, your unwanted, your fearful,
your rejected. Exploding in silvery flashes they dart just outside the play of my light;
your curiosity nudges me and nibbles affectionately from the void beyond
the cone of light.  Already I am being treating different than those before.

From my tips a crumb is broken and taken and more as I feed
the smell of the surface.  I feed the sound of water falling
on a mountain’s side, the stirring bubbling springs turning into that sweet juice
on pine scented mornings; cool rain on the skin on a hot day and barefooted
entices.

                    A gentle frenzy spreads the meal, dust-like, floating nearly motionless in my diving light
                    slowly rotating like planetoids in the darkness of space as rapport builds with the growing
                    hunger of good memories.
                   
                    A finger circling the rim of a glass.
                    Glaciers melting on the tongue.
                    The insatiable itch of just staring.
                    Watching leaves converse.
                    The graceful arc of a whale breathing in last fragments of the setting horizon.
                    Citrused bits of orange sky.

Up they follow these delights of truth like children – to abandoned seasons of feet dancing;
pressings delicate into sand spritzed by a moon's pull.  Coaxed to my gentle shoals from that
broken abyss and 7 minutes on the bottom.