Undersea

I admit that I speak infrequently

And will make you feel awkward. If you can

Break through broken conversation—

Crashing breakers that roar with white foam

That gurgles on turbid green shores—

And dive and bear building pressure and popping ears,

Then we may meet beneath the turmoil

In an undersea dome.

Lilacs grow here, and the water

Is somehow more clear. Speech is still scarce,

But as we sit side-by-side on a green carpet

Of algae and grass beside a river trickling through coral-rock,

I feel like we have found an Elysium,

That reveals the rolling anxious waves

As mere undulating currents.

Among these fluctuations

We seem to understand.

But remember: mind the stream.