Like claret
settling in the tide pool,
the light becomes phosphorescent
on the bottom.
There is a turquoise shell
at the edge of the sand,
a ring lost from a mermaid’s finger,
who genuflected
looking at the shore,
then disappeared.
We are the nonexistent fairies
of the ocean, she said,
who swim among the jellies
and play with moons,
where no ear can hear us,
or eyes be moistened
by an instant love.
This world is barely known by you,
who live on land,
who find their ships
lovingly returned.
The shards of wood and bottles,
the ribbons
loosened from a drownling’s hair.
It is the tides
that do these things you swear,
but the remains were touched
by something more enchanted,
more alive
than you can be,
who look
so woozy out to sea,
and see nothing there.