Written by: David Windle

Into the green lagoon
I dive deeper until
The sandy bed is seen
And the green weeds tickle
The base of my shell and
My clawed, paddle feet
Paddle against the low waters of the waters.

I am a passenger in this body,
Within this shell,
Slipping up the channels
And the streams,
Following their tender currents
Towards the marble at the centre of my eyes;

Where these rivers meet
I come up beneath a small boat
And swim the length
Of its spine, becoming the motion
Of its slow bow: unable
To find the surface
Red death lands on the prow
In the wings of a ladybird.

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