Long ago, long ago
in that new aquarium
we met by chance.
Each of us had habits
we carried from before
to keep from going under.
You stood beside the tank
of half a million gallons;
the same cold light
was on your face
as on the glacial shark
that glided back and forth.

The shark, content from feeding,
appeared mechanical,
a large display of death,
the way we now behaved,
as if without a past,
without a thought of our
surrender and recovery,
but only halfway back.
I loved this love
in spite of how we loved.
The way you placed your hand
and told me: Leave your body.
Enter into mine.
Now in this nocturnal space,
I am nothing once again,
floating in the frigid light.
Ah shark. You could not know
such lying down
or loved such sleep.