will we ever know ourselves as well

as we know the radish we pull from the garden bed?

know our readiness as it bulges at the surface dirt

with rusty shoulders that promise spicy delight?

its bristled leaves mark some unpleasantness, its spiny rejection of our upheaval —

such pleasure in the twist though when the green comes off,

the concave back of the spine where the bulb grows flat,

attenuated lines marking horizontal growth, loose root strands so fragile in my hands

Lungs all full of liquid, I sink deeper to sea floor,

I am all cavitation, the pressure in me changes,

shock and erosion unfold within me, a fleshy crab claw,

this skinny shrimp who seems larger than its frail legs could,

tiny bubbles of air covering everything, my pinky nail, making it all lighter, easier,

all the sea is alive and breathing and changing its shape all the time,

Nudibranch bursting with color, clams opening to feel what passes through,

tiny barnacles on pilings, on other sea creatures casting tongues for tiny filaments,

rolling out their red carpet trap—

above, the sea casts off sea spray — effervescence rises,

these beautiful creatures spin like tiny ballerinas

underneath it sounds like ears pressed into glass