FROM: THE REEF
You crossed the ocean
to see for yourself the atlantis I have created
over the past twenty million years.
We met in calm waters, during stinger season
and you picked moon jellies out of the water
wondering why they didn't dissolve over your hand.
There were an array of parrot-fish, clown-fish,
and other funny fish that day
and a turtle scouring for sea grass near the bottom
down down down
where your ears began to hurt and the bubbles
on your arms escaped creating an effervescence
of oxygen that surrounded you.
But you must come back, or at least
think of me now and then
for you have only seen an inch of the wonders
that I contain - the rest is about the size of Japan.
TO: THE REEF
I will one day return, and hope to
find you in good health then.
I was somewhat worried when
I saw the pale shade
of your corals, now dying.
I cannot deny your beauty, though,
it is evident in every small crevice.
Did you know I was a little frightened
of the big blue spaces on your outer edges,
and of the jellies, transparent ones that
floated too close to my nose,
and of the barracuda that swam beneath the boat?
But I stayed in the water anyways.
There was too much at stake
to go back to the boat;
there were turtles to watch,
anemones to examine,
and all sorts of
dancing light patterns
Besides, the barracuda was watching me.