From the black height of Atlantis you dove,
a seabird plunge to promising waters.
I at the shore, wrapped in borrowed garments,
immaculate white, reflecting the heat.
Still, the sudden, breathless, knot-bite of loss,
a prising open before you emerge.
Only later, pressed to your skin, there came,
the slow, blood-trickle of rapid descent.
I buried you with stones, laid them over
each visible part, gently, one by one.
The shape of you took years to submerge,
beneath an eternal spread of stone pine.