On a lark we sailed
the borrowed blue trimaran
from Santa Barbara
out for a day of snorkeling
in the kelp forests
rimming the south cape beaches
of Santa Cruz Island,
holding our masks
as we splashed over the side
our big frog flippers
glinting sunlight in early July,
plying those sublime
netherworlds
strand by translucent kelp-strand
in a trail of outbreath bubbles
until you chanced
upon an opening
and the startled flash
of seabream by the silver thousands
turning from you
& oceanically gone
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