The ocean surface flexes and I am schooled with the fish,
flanked by the tail and tilt of their angled balance,
the cold intimacies of their flesh.
I could dedicate myself to this:
the pursuit of cadences in salt and warmth
and the sinuous will of this many-ribboned shoal
as it streams into rods of turquoise and gold...
I pitch between the water's sides,
its massy, burnished sheets, and am lost to its permissions
and slipways and its taste, as the milky spores
and coral globes of last night's spawning season
thread through my fingers and briefly luminesce,
as if I had somehow found a back door
and, uninvited, entered grace.
- Fiona Benson