Title Request #8

We are swimming. We are
swimming off the crocus,
into the perfect. We are
full of it and warm, cross
bodies and wishing.
Buoyant. Sublime.
We are hatching
a plan, you and I,
at a mindful depth.
Sharp shot. A school
of them in their stripes
whip by us. The audible
world for us is breath
and light. No words
are possible here, only
fish history, ocean
desire. What is above
hovers. We are swimming
without it. The surface
now a dream. Like
the day in this night,
ebbing somewhere
around our heads.