Yellow tang, blue parrotfish, spotted puffers — some
ballooned, some flaccid — hundreds of silver trumpets,
pendulous wrasse. The water is clear, then, as it deepens,
murkier, coral architecture mottled dark & light. Round
one outcrop glides a snake, ghostly white floater. It turns
from my shadow, sinks to a rubbled perimeter, threads
into a dark place. No interest in me at all, yet I panic.
My flippered kicks propel me back to the beach. I unstick
my mask, wrench my feet free, reach for a towel, cower
in a chilly offshore breeze. What’s the smell of a snake
coiled in salt water? Out of flickering sea a knob rises,
cracks open to suck down air. Why would a life move
& hunt & breed in one atmosphere & breathe another?
The long peregrinations, poised ascents, brief inhales.
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