Starting • Marc Zegans


I ride the sea on purple curl

As night draws near

Arms back, head thrust

Leading with my jaw

Water drops and rises

As we progress, wave and I

To where it scatters on sand

In turbulent wash


I roll in the froth

Stand like a dog; shake

Water from my head

Turn my back

On the darkening

Beach and scrubby hills

Look out to the sun

Puddled sea, which slips

Inviting, between my toes

I run out again, plunge and swim

Duck diving under the swells

Each time I surface

The light has drifted.

A locomotive pumping, I stroke

Huge whistle bursting my lips


Out; out into the white light

Dancing on the ocean, last reach

Of setting sun. Out; out

Into the magic pool

As if I could follow

All the way to China

And then I reach its edge

Marveling at how fine

A line it paints

On wrinkled chop

As I survey its arc

Cold water at my back

I feel a tide pull my chest

Ripping my toes


I give over

Letting it carry me

Out toward the light

Out toward the last orange

Splash on open sea

And there we play, light and I

Dancing and laughing, on water-top

As I turn corkscrews in the waves

We kiss goodnight, as she slides

Under water covers

Then I turn, surveying

The distant black contour

I put my head down

Taste the salt

And start to swim.

• Poem by Marc Zegans • First Published in his book “The Underwater Typewriter,” Pelekinesis Press.

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