Refractions

On this beach of smashed shells,

and sunning pebbles,

for you I dig

a Sisyphean pit, that trickily floods

with buried sea and tiny darts of life.

Then, while the walls inevitably

collapse over my burrowing hands,

I naively dwell on nurturing journeys 

 and the illusion of destinations.

***

I sometimes take long ocean swims, 

almost sightless save 

for the opal opacity below

and the dizzying rush of light, 

as I drink in a breath 

on every three stokes. 

There are inexplicable pockets of cold,

and the currents play games with 

time and space.

The sea is more volatile than it

looks from the beach.

***

Lying next to my grandparents’ pool, 

circa early eighties:

filter humming and every now and then,

the Aquanaut would climb the walls

to slurp in air like a lungfish before 

slipping below the surface.

Breathing into the crook of

my folded arms as my head rested on my hands;

my hips pressed sharply into the hot slate, 

while water striders once again jigged their way 

over the calming water.