Among t greens,

    a bullet

    from the ocean

    depths,

    a swimming

    projectile,

    I saw you,

    dead.

    All around you

    tuces,

    sea foam

    of th,

    carrots,

    grapes,

    but

    of the ocean

    truth,

    of the unknown,

    of the

    unfathomable

    she

    depths

    of the sea,

    the abyss,

    only you had survived,

    a pitch-black, varnished

    ness

    to deepest night.

    Only you, well-aimed

    dark bullet

    from the abyss,

    mangled

    at one tip,

    but constantly

    reborn,

    at anc,

    winged fins

    windmilling

    in t

    flight

    of

    the

    marine

    shadow,

    a mourning arrow,

    dart of the sea,

    olive, oily fish.

    I saw you dead,

    a deceased king

    of my own ocean,

    green

    assault, silver

    submarine fir,

    seed

    of seaquakes,

    now

    only dead remains,

    yet

    in all t

    yours

    he only

    purposeful form

    amid

    t

    of nature;

    amid the fragile greens

    you were

    a solitary ship,

    armed

    among tables

    fin and prow black and oiled,

    as if you ill

    the wind,

    the one and only

    pure

    ocean

    machine:

    unflaing

    ters of death.