Few seconds when breath congeals
           into globes of air, when brakes
are applied without rebellious

           questioning, no traffic lights to open
and close the valves like a magician
           wrenching this and that from intricate

nothingness; few seconds when sight
           overrules thought so what we see
is all there is, blue arresting nakedness and

           nothing more. Underwater, our bodies
cannot accept what they have always sought
           from walking. When light defies

lane-marked roads by spinning on a will
           of its own; when we swim to the surface
for reminders like flowers hurting

           after the sun — even for a few seconds —
we may already be convinced we have returned
           to a place where voices are

just underwater currents
           mapping the perfect
geography of skin.