I lean over the smooth surface 
where limestone peaks 
pierce stilled reflection. 
Through years of water, I see 

more water: emerald
of the underworld 
braids into inner currents, 
wraps around my wrist, pulls 
my hand toward the depth 
borne more pure with each layer. 

I press my face against the turquoise 
sky to grasp how my voice 
will sound underwater: distortion 
of waves echoes south, spills 
in another body altitudes 
apart, searching for a place 

to rest. I heard you cry 
where the stones fell, 
each fissure filled with new life. 
My skin was no longer the border, 
but salt and air mixed with water.