[Cue Sebastian:] Under Da Sea

we float down down down
out of the white light and heat and everyday into
other, a parallel universe,
alien planet,
so peaceful.

the silence plays
music upon my ear drums

and, suddenly, I breathe in, to
a forest of purpleredgreenyellow
as something tickles my thigh--
a chorus of bubbles softly stroke me
as they rise up

up



up


and into the light,
white light, above us
(looks like heaven, that perfectbeautiful halo of light)

turn, look up,
a forest of fish
eclipse the light from above

and if I die here, in this moment,
hoka hey,
for it is glorious

below me a symphony begins,
symphoy of sea anemone
wave in time to the almighty
beat beat beat
breathe breathe breathe breathe breathe
everything breathes here,
together,
not a thing out of time, out of place

even the fish are full of purpose.
Fred Flintstone-Jersey fish,
on his way to feast on barnacles
and Camo Man,
somehow (foolishly) convinced if he hides extra still I'll have no idea
he exists
(the Don Quixote of the sea, how charming)
and long lanky luxuriant Paris Hilton fish
(for the love of everything will someone please feed them some sandwiches??)
swish swish by,
fashion plates at fify feet

and then excitement
what? who?
in a cave
(is it Platonic?)
but this is no shadow, it's a something,
a prehistoric whatchewhosit,
fallen out of time,
into this sea cave before us,
his feelers testing testing
1 2 3 4
for signs of food life hope anything
(is anything out there? somewhere out there?)
unaware that he himself is the principal player in our little drama,
our eyes affixed to his every move as he struggles
to find a place in his world

it's as though everything--
the anemones, Fred, Camo, Paris, Caveman--
exists only for us,
our private showing into this crazy wonderland,
that when we leave suddenly poof!
all will cease
(will it?)

ah but alas,
the time has come,
the dive guide said,
to talk of many things:
of decompression illness and bottom time
and surfacing and things
and why the sea is boiling hot
and what kind of fish have wings.

so thus we part (reluctantly)
sweet sorrow of the sea
"adieu, adieu, till it be morrow!"
we chorus as we flee

and up we go,
the buoy line
(our glory fadeth fast)

and up we go
to light and heat
and oxygen--at last.

and as we look up at the sun
and round at each glad face,
we feel inside us rise something
that's e'er so hard to place

gladness? awe, perhaps?
or sheer bewilderment?
this universe we've found below--
how in hell can we explain?
for ne'er could we do justice to
the glory that we've seen.

we can't, of course,
each one of us,
and so we smile privately.
for though we can't communicate,
we've been changed by the sea.