Barton Springs

The jay cocks its eye in the live oak scrub,
glints of thunderheads
in a tumbled jasper stare,
bounces off the branch,
dives up and plunges
through gloss-dark leaves,
twisting paint-tipped ailerons
    to stroke the air —
 
 
         I hold my breath and hit the bite
         of Barton Springs, a shivering plunge
         into the amber echo-world
                        beneath —
 
 
Feathers catch heat-
ripples, trilling
cicada scales
crescendo into double-tongued
              fermatas —
 
 
         My arms pull back the amniotic
         currents, elodea ropes; 
         sunk jade feathers
         wave where salamander feather-
         gills move slowly 
                   in the deep —
 
 
The hammered bronze
              water beats —
 
 
         I breach,
         dripping crystal in my hair,
         underwater bass-thumps
         transmuted into high-harmonic
         syllables as sun-shards
                   glance the surface —
 
 
The jay glides
as summer breathes
              on new wet skin —
 
 
         and I
 
                        breathe in.