A thing dropped

into a clear pool will draw fish

seeking food. 
So Dante and Beatrice were received

by ambitious hungry lights

in the second circle of paradise.
And so it is in limpid waves behind

the shore-break at Bar Beach – turquoise, just like

a circle of heaven on holy days

as the sun strikes sheer

through sea’s restless face.
Lucent sand whiting hang unseen

and I am drawn to light from

their flanks. Mirror-winks

from distant wreck survivors.

My keen heart-jolt flashes back

in answer. 
Between breaths

garlanded with streamers

I follow their turn,

salt-blurred among

the weed-manes.