A diver's prayer

She calls from where the daylight ends,
From vaults of black and pressure old,
And bids me follow as she bends
Her silver tongue through waters cold.

She comes adorned in sapphire grace,
Yet hides her knives in velvet deep,
One stolen thought, one drift from place,
And I become the debt she keeps.

The bell awaits, our iron shrine,
Where brothers seal themselves to fate,
One final breath, one splash of brine,
Then downward through her ancient gate.

My lamp a star against her veil,
Twin cylinders against my spine,
My reels, my gas, my craft prevail,
For beauty bends to disciplined line.

She shows me halls no sun has known,
White caves where sleeping giants lie,
And whispers softly: Stay below.
No king has learned her truer lie.

But drill my armour, wit my blade,
And courage stitched through every seam,
For none return by hope or aid,
We rise by labour, not by dream.

And should my brother lose his way,
His light grow dim, his breathing thin,
Then I become his borrowed day,
And carry both our shadows in.

She reached with fingers cold as stone,
And wrapped my throat in silk and frost,
I smiled beneath my mask alone:
Not yet, old love. I am not lost.

Then slowly through her dark I climbed,
Past broken worlds and silent blue,
And left her waiting, still sublime,
For she will call. And I’ll return.