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I
I tumbled through
A school of fish,
A swirling horde,
A silver coil
That danced
Around me
Like a circle of light
While, below,
Green lobsters
Trudged along,
Wary and deliberate;
Storms of seaweed
Fell like snow
And gathered in piles;
I saw, as well,
The bones of fish
And the bones of men;
They roll like tumbleweed
Across the floor;
I mourned the loss
Of those nameless souls.
II
The sun is weak:
Its blinding light
Succumbs to the water,
Gleams meekly
Through shadows
That pervade the ocean’s
Rooms and corridors
But, even so,
I now can see
As never before:
I see the flicker
Of distant fins
And grains of sand
In every inch
Of the seabed’s
Grand mosaic;
I see sharp corners
And subtle bends
Hidden in a shadow’s edge
And I see colors
That can’t be seen
In the atmosphere;
I have found clarity
In the darkness of the sea.
The weight of water
Is soft against my skin:
The cool of it
Reaches my core,
Runs throughout
The essence of all I am,
An essence I never knew
And could never know
Living life on land.
I hear the song
Of bells in the distance,
A strained echo
Reverberates in long,
Deformed tone,
Chimes from beyond the reef:
It could be the music
Of an ancient buoy,
Long ago abandoned
Or, perhaps, the song
Of currents as they cross:
Sober tone,
Holy melody,
A lonely reminder
Of something lost;
The crabs and eels
And angelfish
Listen and live
In keeping
With its rhythm
As I drift, spellbound,
Toward the sound
Of that lament.
Walter Weinschenk is an attorney, writer and musician. Until a few years ago, he wrote short stories exclusively but now divides his time equally between poetry and prose. Walter's writing has appeared in a number of literary publications including the Carolina Quarterly, Lunch Ticket, Cathexis Northwest Press, Beyond Words and others. His work is due to appear in forthcoming issues of the Iris Literary Journal, The Banyan Review and Sand Hills Literary Magazine. Walter lives in a suburb just outside Washington, D. C