Otters again

I’ve gotten to spend some time with this poem over the last few days. Its simplicity spends time with me. What is beneath? What is above? And then I wonder – as I am who I am – what is falling in love like as an otter? Probably nothing at all. As social as they are they may not have love and aren’t like you and me. But my imagination does that. It imagines me in love, or my lovers in love, and thinks about otters at play off the coast of Monterey.

This is the sixth version of this poem.

“Otters off of Monterey” 

Plunging in gulfs 
between pillars of light,
frolicking with dappled
leopard sharks brushing
heaving kelp towers,
whose balloons float
in the green tide.

Silken sea lion bodies
weave submarine threads
of bubbling sheets
beneath yawns on the foam,
beneath backs brushing
the heaving kelp,
beneath brine sunk heads
on the green tide.


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