Drowning is unexpectedly exquisite.
The shimmy struggle splash of water
spangling rainbows in the sun.
The ferment of carbon dioxide
boiling beneath shelved and shuddering ribs.
Hands crumpling like abstract origami
as dragon scale eyes slip shut.
A last cacophony of feet
thudding against glass;
then, a coda of silence so pure it aches.
It is ethereal.
But, then, I only watch.
using the Sunday Whirl words