Mermaid

I find myself delving deeper and deeper into this:

like digging through the ocean from a sight above the precipice
with a dolphin shovel made by mer-maid hands.

First I'll uncover a layer of salt,
then crystal,
then diamonds,
then something holy and profound;
something that can only be reached at abysmal decades--
something that can only survive treacherous temperatures and wanton hope
(only thermophiles would venture to such heights).

Then, the shovel will shrink
in comparison to the ocean floor.
And when I believe that I've hit the bottom of the maelstrom,
and that I've found myself within the core of the Earth,
the whirlpool will kidnap me somewhere--
a place predestined or predetermined,
chosen perhaps by the fate of humanity
or by "His loving hand".

I will carousel back, I imagine;
It will flounder down nicely with me,
and we will be sitting at the precipice together instead,
eating peanut butter and gluten-free bread,
tossing our leftovers at the loquacious seagulls,
never looking down.