I wonder from the floor of the gleaming golden surface
and the broken blue sky,
The unbounded oxygen and burning flotsam,
And I Imagine too my floating form, my flat-paddle soles
o’er the break of the waves,
The sea foam that collects on my toes, the mist that
masks my scent from the water,
The weeds that kiss my feet, and there ones that wrap
The gulls that dip their legs, the gulls that plunge
and pull up their meal.
Has anyone ever seen the bottom?
From the middle of the sun?
From the deck of the ship transcending the tides?
From the dead of the shore?
From the turret of the palace above the break wall?
The gleaming golden sun that is hard to see
doesn’t need me—and I don’t need it.
I will stand with my feet on the scum,
In solitude with the fish and the blue and the bottom
With my cheek turned up waiting to be caught