Against the sway and the slap,

in the space between waves,

a sibilant layer plays

to the attuned ear.

It is pure and luring, disarming.

It charms him.

He craves

a fan of silken hair,

satined skin,

a jewelled tail,

and slides through the film.

He glides above coral

and powdered sand

on his dazzling trail,

chasing flickers of dreamlight.

But all magical lands have allure

which is illusion.

 

His ankle is clasped.

Shackled by barnacled fingertips,

he is jerked and wrenched,

hauled into the sunless trench,

dragged down, down, down,

trawled through fettering fronds,

binding, winding, wrapping,

slicing, shredding, snapping,

as she tows her catch to her lair.

Dark weight swallows

the air.

His wake splits shoals.

Outstretched hands rake water,

grasp, grab, snatch, clutch.

Spent,

they drift to his sides.

The cold burrows like maggots.

 

Her hair has escaped her braids;

it is as frayed as ships’ ropes,

as alive as squirms of eels,

writhing and coiling

in a veil at her face

and in a halo of knots.

A sea snake escapes

from her dark

protrusible mouth

and her jaws gape,

lined with turritella shells.

Her skin is as cold

and grey as clay,

algae cupping her bony juts

strumming her striped ribs,

filling her hollows.

 

Her tarnished scales lift like scabs

and seep green clouds

as she strangles him with seaweed,

wringing out his silent screams.

She anchors him to the shipwreck

for later.

His bones will tumble and wedge

in the shifting jumble

and, one day,

be dredged.

Legends will be birthed

and unearthed,

and their eyes will be alight,

mesmerised by the myths

and magic

of mystical mermaids.