She
Her caps are now subsiding,
Her firm, frosted surface melts
Into the ocean around her,
And she becomes it.
It’s who she always was:
Rippling tide; layers of ice;
Sharp, glass blades; then,
Curling, swirling, motion. Stop.
She is, and she is not -
Fabrication weaved into
The fabric of the cosmos -
She is, and she is not.
The worst is over now,
.As the day is nigh.
She slips into her gown,
She seeps into my mind.
She is, and she is not
Everything I want.
He
His craft make a rash turn -
Got the right velocity?
No, bit more acute. No.
Yep, that’s it - that’s his near miss.
He gives it the voyeur’s stare,
And wonders what it’s like.
“Could I follow her down there?
Are we at all alike?”
Rationalise away, he does
Till the white orb declines.
Then he decides, “Time to retire,”
And descends through to his cabin.
To his dismay, the captain finds
An orifice large enough to let
In enough water for demise.
His lovely vessel, near-engulfed.
He is not, yet he is now
Everything she wants.
