Abandoned
adrift the rising high
tide, unable to break
the algae-
encrusted chains of his ever-
drifting, undersea
prison, Centaur floats, bereft in
his sublittoral cell.
Maritime
sounds dig deep
into Centaur's sea-surrounded mind; dendritic overload
taxes frazzled synapses, flooding
every thought-
channel until all
he hears are waves. Bypassing
his horned
ears, their constant whisper-sighs
penetrate his blood-brain
barrier. Shivs of
sea shank him repeatedly. They
remake him; he becomes ocean
itself.
Lost
amid the neritic black,
submerged
beneath the brackish
water's rusted utilities, he chokes
on the abyssal
hypersalinity. His subaqueous sense
of severance
from home
intensifies. Transmarine
perceptions have made a home
of his mind; memories of his former life
blur like his murky ocean-
vision. He delves
into his shore-stored collection
of the ocean's leavings, the sand- and sea-inscribed,
time-
polished debris
subsiding waves abandon.
He constructs a coronet
of bones bound
together with salt-
encrusted seaweed, he fashions
a diadem and vows (once
again) not to lose hold
of his last splintered memories
of home-
life. He crowns himself king
of the sea, ruler of its precious
detritus. Seadusk distilled
through emerald undercurrents marks the first day
of his reign.
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