Among t greens,

        a bullet

        from the o

        depths,

        a swimming

        projectile,

        I saw you,

        dead.

        All around you

        tuces,

        sea foam

        of th,

        carrots,

        grapes,

        but

        of the o

        truth,

        of the unknown,

        of the

        unfathomable

        she

        depths

        of the sea,

        the abyss,

        only you had survived,

        a pitch-black, varnished

        ness

        to deepest night.

        Only you, well-aimed

        dark bullet

        from the abyss,

        mangled

        at oip,

        but stantly

        reborn,

        at anc,

        winged fins

        windmilling

        in t

        flight

        of

        the

        marine

        shadow,

        a m arrow,

        dart of the sea,

        olive, oily fish.

        I saw you dead,

        a deceased king

        of my own o,

        green

        assault, silver

        submarine fir,

        seed

        of seaquakes,

        now

        only dead remains,

        yet

        in all t

        yours

        he only

        purposeful form

        amid

        t

        of nature;

        amid the fragile greens

        you were

        a solitary ship,

        armed

        among tables

        fin and prow blad oiled,

        as if you ill

        the wind,

        the one and only

        pure

        o

        mae:

        unflaing

        ters of death.
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