from Articles of War, Section V

I stare down into waterburn. This urge to enter what we see. Unrefracted tropical sun with its whole arm works deeply the ocean interior. Water and light in union make a third thing—color as fluid deepened endlessly. Into the quarry of aquamarine, high-walled with light, the mind high dives. My fingers cleave watersilk. I breathe heavy light. The big cavitation of the props gone by, my struggling stops, my slowed descent, in diminishing light, gains the country where the shark is eagle, fish the fishermen, and men no more than stones along the road.