we are a high school, honey-love crush,
terribly beautiful at our
tipping point to the contact.
staring into abyssal zones.
walking on water;
wading;
raising generations
of fish through this
finality. the poem steering
directionlessness into its
narrative. the death of
oceans as a wicked strangling
no one wants to solve.
it is all simply too evil
and we are too pure to know
what terrible beauty comes down to us.
a life and death hypocrisy,
when we are flying
in that first
weightless step.
walking on water
until
bottom.
staring into abyssal zones
which are closer now.

Poem and photography by Hazel J. Hall.
Previously published by Dream Noir.
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