In the hazy grey light,
when the lines are good and blurry;
on the affluent peninsula
baboons are robbing purses filled with
baby sharks are hiding in the
tide is pulling back along
the broken stones are breaking less than
the moon is keeping secrets.
Terrified by what they'll find
If the moon might spill the beans
when all the planets have been realigned
and the earth becomes a circus;
make-up artists are making up, all
the animals are waking up, behind the scenes
the lion tamers are being tamed by tigers.
Locks are good, but woe betide,
by pushing through the key inside,
and peeking through the little gap
a secret is dispelled.
You see, the circus folk are working hard,
with make up running down their faces;
busy canning oxygen
for the astronauts and divers.
Something's getting closer,
I can feel it.
Something's coming nearer,
but I can't see it.
Something's getting faster,
I'm running, and running, and running,
and giving all of my nerve away.
Underwater, under all
the silly circus people, next to
little monsters on the beach:
A frothy, curtained bay.
The bigger sharks are angry at
the apes are getting braver in
the water is inviting them
to take a quick look under.
Now inside the pantomime,
innamorate dolphins hide
above, below, behind their masks,
enlightened by the moon.
In the coral forest,
the brighella clown fish start to tell
their arlecchino sisters' plans
for taking back the ocean.
Soon the moon is getting tired,
and bored with all
the actresses are acting up
because they know
it's getting past their bedtime
so, the orca with her panda eyes,
and orders from the moon, arrives
to tell them all to get to sleep;
or on the three count, leave.
Doing what we've all been told,
and scattering for fear of all
the consequences we've in store
for swimming off the shore.
The surface is approaching, near,
and Dorothea's waiting there.
Though, on her boat, she looks away,
she smiles, and sails me far away.