In the far southern islands of Tawi-Tawi, 
there are people who've learned to dive 

fathoms without any breathing equipment
or lifeline. Searching out pearls, gathering 

from the ocean floor what they can of tin 
and shards and bone, they go down 

that down elevator's gradated, rippling light. 
Imagine carrying the flask of your own air, then

little by little releasing coins of it until the last bit 
propels you, gasping, to the surface.  Here in the world, 

sometimes I wonder how long I can hold 
my breath, just waiting for the sun to return.

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