Surprising how many sharks troll in your love,
though not unexpected; deep and strong as it is,
I did not plan for only angel fish
when I dove so decidedly in,
bringing extra tanks in case you would not let me breathe,
a knife in case I tangled in your nets,
and lights for darkness in your depths,
(I've done this before, you know, and drowned).
My friend and diving partner quit these seas
when his second marriage sank
with the speed of guilty feet encased in cement,
and tries to convince me to sky dive instead,
the birds always young and fresh like gravity-free chocolate,
tan and firm with a constant upward wind in the face,
but after the short adrenalin minutes
all that remains is to fold the chute.
At least the appetites of sharks are honest
and their bites direct.
So I keep on kicking downward through my years
to swim in your ferocious schools,
to care for your coral,
when oxygen starts running low,
to sing with your whales.