Sudden Calm
Mar 23 2009


I love diving-in
on a stormy day.

When the choppy surface
is pock-marked by rain,
and a heavy froth
churns the breakers.
Water in my ears, the wind
carry your shouts away,
and the world shrinks inward.

I slip under
into sudden calm.
The light filtered, grey.
The swell, rising and falling
reaches invisibly downward,
gently rocking.
Where I hover, weightless,
all silent
except for the thud of my heartbeat
filling my ears.
Salt water, blood
equalize
across my skin’s thin membrane,
and I become formless;
as insubstantial as a jelly fish
wafting effortlessly by,
trailing its deceptive tendrils.
I wait
my molecules diffusing slowly outward,
the infinite ocean
holding me.

Then hungry for air, bursting
I claw my way back to the surface
and rocket out breathless
into frigid air —
the stinging spray, the roaring wind;
squinting
in unaccustomed light.