I've told you before
I remember nearly drowning once
- made small by swells
that had seemed tame from the sand
just moments before.
Screaming for someone,
my voice stolen by marbled effervescence
and vastness- shoulders surrendering.
That time the rip took me back in.
I was lucky.
This place is a sea too you know.
Don't forget its depth.
Its basalty bed rests in cold darkness
fathoms below the streets, the lights
and our ever-treading soles.
Waves sweep through windows
and the rip swipes your feet from
the surest of floors
- a phantom peril.
You called out, didn't you?
As loudly as you could have,
and yet almost imperceptibly
-many decibels below
the noise, the talk and the metal tides.