Miami – Snorkeling

I always grip with my teeth
the bit of the snorkel,
playing my tongue across the rubbery piece.
Breath in.
Breath out.
Salt against my lips,
I blow hard and clear
the water that has collected.
The mask squeezes against my cheeks.

The water is as warm as a bath,
yellow as piss.
Fish flitter and dance,
a tiny school of shimmering
iridescent lights
A cast handful of sequins
flutters around me, then darts away.
Sea grass beckons
and the cool dark blue of the drop off
whispers my name in a silky voice.