we walk around in our space, that seems to encompass so much… space, but yet, even these continents, pale in comparison to the lands, that are under the oceans, beneath our radar, truths, stories, societies, all buried or hidden there, a not so subtle graveyard, a flowing cemetery of the document of life for the history of this world, I wonder how many, how many shipwrecks there are, how many lives, how many souls, some wonder about the riches, but gold glitters in any form, gold does not have a tale to tell except the hands that from which it fell, how many of these untold fireside chat charcoals lie buried beneath, or just undiscovered, sitting alone in the current or among piles of others on top of others in layers of layers, sparks that ended with no fire but had heat, bells no longer rung, voices leapt into the mist that laps the shore with the forgotten tongues, voices buried deep from which nothing comes, the (bio) luminescence of the human form, etched on a plank with a stone, or a blade, a bauble, a vase, an urn once filled with oil or wine, or barrels of molasses, or whiskey, or just a simple metal worked totem of luck tucked in a pocket forgotten, waiting to be found again, to sing, to write a book, or a verse, to fill in a blank, to answer a question, to pose new ones, to set the record straight, or just place a piece of a puzzle that much closer…
all in the sands, silts, and shifting tides, the whole of outer space lies in the matter of the ocean waters, a land, we can not see immediately, a land, much vaster than the horizon we look out upon to reach, the deep, and shallows even, have swallowed so many people, so many seasons, a vast library lies there, waiting for us to discover, all we need to do, is put our toe in the water…