adrift in the anemone

hearts touching.  minds clutching at colours, regent.
a legion of dreams dancing on the currents pouring
from depths the land dwellers can only imagine
in the pale winds of the atmosphere.  here, the winds
are irresistible, and we fly on wings of wonder,
under fathoms of unfathomable magic.  tragic
thoughts banished, vanished by the tendriled petals
of the anemone, deadly and beautiful, like love.


forests of coral

tall and timberesque, yet impossibly spidery.
the trunks and branches of the edged reef
rise in blood red majesty into the twilight green
of the light seen in dancing shadows.  the Selke
speaks in bubbles not unlike word balloons 
in a comic book, but with contentment and spent
emotions traded for a hacksaw dream broken 
from the trees in the forests of coral.


the vent

life unimagined at depths unbearable.
dreamworld of creatures impossible.
here is where nature's poets live,
spewing forth the fire from the core
of the human condition, creating
quickened flesh from sulphur and fire.


the palace of jade

at the altar where I once prayed, my breath
tasting like quicklime on the tongue of travesty,
I did not know of this place.  a space between
heartbeats wasted on a shallow love.  the halls
curve into infinity and I may yet find a cascade
worthy of a threnody taken back in honest emotion.
so rare above the waters, the daughters of the night
will dance their codependent follies in wasted waltz.
and you and I will find a rhythm of the thrumming 
seas and dance as we please, making legends.  
making music into shifting sonnets of serenity.


delphinius

we will ride to the horizon that is not seen.
for here, in the depths of the Selke's domain,
horizon is not a condition observed...the murk 
extends about you and the sun never rises but 
slides across the roof of your universe, transversing
the ceiling beneath which we ride, breaking
the edge and seeing the horizon only for an
instant when our mounts must suck their lives
from the toxic shallows of the wind.  


the hulk

yesterday stagnated here on the bottom.
proud work of many hands, slammed to the sandbars
by the waves of time.  driven deep to sleep
as gold bullion birthplace of a thousand
dreams of avarice.  but the price paid
by the sailors on this sea of dreams
was dear, and those who cannot shed tear
for their valor are damned to a darker grave.
braving the honor, we pass by in humble salute.


sinker

and though her features are distorted in the spell,
the Selke slides to touch me in her embrace
and I touch her face with reverent hands and we
slowly spiral into the depths.  building currents
to change the tides subtly, and forever.


copyright William F. DeVault (wfdv)