Out of the silt, in a pointed stone from the
sand on the ocean floor, bubbles rise.

Loving them too much, I cannot breathe,
afraid to disturb the delicate progress

of froth. Astonished, foam spirals,
its circular ascent guards us all,

Irregular and certain, above and below.
Seaweed and shocks of white coral

Escort each unexpected turn, bursting
together towards the surface.