When you hove the plumb in the ocean
you heard it break the sheen
on the surface as it parted walls
of the mutable water column
then a rasp as your hands passed over
the visible twist of the rope
as the line paid out, and you wondered
how deep it would have to go
(your fathoming tool) as it sank
through layers of photosynthetic
migrating cells and stories
of diatomic bodies
until, once the lead hit the floor
with a slight change in slack, you could tell
how far the eye had traveled
by marks tied on the line
so that you pulled the weight
back up the glassy staircase,
back to the euphotic surface
where the ship steadied the plumb
and where, in a repetition
like a watery palindrome,
you—bound and leaning—were reeling
the measured feeling home.

Original appearance in Raritan.