Washing Up

Oily rainbows slide over bubbles
On the surface of the roiling sea.
White foam clings to high dock walls
Of metal and chain all silvery.
 
I dive. The water is gemlike;
A brilliant, viscous green.
Slippery and hot, it washes past
Then through it an object is seen.
 
A wreck. Lying at the bottom,
Uniform shadow and shiny too.
The hull is blotched, tiny particles
Clinging on in the ocean blue.
 
What manner of barnacle locks on tight
With jaws of burn and blackened bite?
A swish of the hand, the stain wipes clean
To ceramic white and glazed sheen.
 
The limpets fall loose, the wreck is revealed,
A porcelain yacht with concave core
The prize moves upward, caught in a swell
To float above in the world once more.
 
Surfacing. Air. There’s more below
Wrecks and their treasure waiting to show
What hidden prizes are submerged, aglow.
I sigh. A few more pots to go.

(c) RJ Gardham