8:102) chris abraham 30-JAN-98 11:35

the opportunities crash like waves, yet theu catch my ankles and bring me with them. The brine cleanses wounds, softening scabs, making skin prune. the hair dances on the scalp fish bite the end, cutting off split ends. the twilight sky ghouls the underworld. i see a pacific green sea turtle its shell is rich and woody, smooth and polished. the beak touched the prune, never slicing. it seems to move between the night and light, and i have to concentrate between breaths. long deep-diving fins thrust me my legs are strong the water rushes my concentration deceives me into following the kelp, mistaking the coral for the turtle, its smooth fins angling the jewelry of the tag the quick movements, odd for a cold-blooded reptile; the turtle, a reptile. reptoid. more like a puppy, like siren, luring my in my breath, into the green waters, edging me farther away from the beach where the air is more plentiful. my lungs are clear, the doctor said, the lungs are clear -- was all so a couple minutes distracted. told: the body begs for air by pissing itself the body begs for air down in the velvet waters at night now, haven't done more than sip the night sky and following something: i have lost the solid form of rubbery scales and hornrimmed hull, the slashing fins, mine blue; its green. into the rush of the wash, listening for the movement, seeing more of an aura, more of a ghost than the solid skeleton, strung like drum, the pacific green sea turtle. water, thermoclines, rushing blades on outboards, butting flanks like mine, like its, like manitee, dugong intercoastal, like whale, sperm, right, mink, killer orca fine slow . . . my hide, my skin, and the preassure against my mask the ache of the legs, the prune of the fingers gripping the coarse ache alivedead coral. into the dark velvet the terrible chase, the loving guide, the wraith, the aura, the energy, the reptile, moving under only several breath, trunks, the long freedive fins, a weight belt, a breath held, a breath held.