Who are you?
That from your grey deep
light and dark emerge?
You typhoon force
that formed our waterlogged flesh,
phalluses spurting, nipples oozing.
Your liquid mist
that tests the plumb line of trust,
floats the cork of hope.
You waters of meaning,
whose muse driven rains
drench attention, exact expression.
You oceans of I Am,
whence comes the diamond faced dream
that waits in virgins’ water filled wombs.
Who are you,
that drawing us down to a watery end,
still, in you, we become.