We cling to each other like barnacles
on the belly of a blue whale,
in desperation to belong at last.
With laughter filling our main sail,
we are flying as seagulls: clumsily.
Our heads are buried in the sand
to anything but this perfect moment.
Here, we are reckless and raw and
run to the dark waves and our deep-sea graves.
We are baptised in salt water.
The seabed gives each of us a new name
as a siren's long-lost daughter.
The ocean sits in knowing wait, lying,
haggard, dredged from her deathly sleep.
We have no fear, though we should be afraid,
of the truth that lies in the deep.