Poem of The Mermaid and The Man

I swam behind the barn
this morning
and watched the sunlight breaking
on your windowsill.
But when I knocked,
your brother told me
you had been gone
since late November.
“Out diving,” he mumbled
and closed the door.

I spent the rest
of the day floating
and spitting bubbles into the
sky.

Where would you go
in a year like this?–
the cold has made
the kelp so thick,
impassable.

And no one here seems to recall
your passing
or remember even one
of your hundred names.
When I ask the seals
if they’ve seen you,
they just bark
and close their eyes.

I get worried, you know–
our ocean is deep and it
never ends.

Tomorrow evening,
I’m heading out towards
Long Reef. . .

If I get there,
I’ll watch
for our rainbow–the one
that disappears
whenever
either one of us blinks.

And I’ll signal you somehow,
scoop yellow paint
onto the waves.

And I’ll laugh and I’ll wonder
about the child we once
started

in that huge cave,
deep inside this water.