We’re swift in currents.
Down spiny sprays of kelp we dive,
Run hands through leaves to hunt
for snails and sapphires.

In rain we sing
high siren calls
you can only hear beneath the surface.

Aboveground it sounds like keening,
or silence.

Skin is not suited for the tides, and
Anemones collect our wave-shorn
scales.
Your hair twists with mine in pulpy
tangles
around the clam shells
of our mermaid-hearts.