I found this in an old notebook. It’s at least 12 years old, if not older:

The Cold Man

At the bottom of the sea, he sits

Bubbles rising; crystal prints of amorphous spheres

Disappearing into the black above.

Below?

Who knows? He hasn’t swam that far.

Yet.

Tomorrow?

Maybe yes. Maybe no.

He might break Surface today.

Join the crowd; don The Suit.

Sit for a meeting; drink some coffee.

He’d be back by noon, of course.

He never lasted that long above.

Just like his father.

His father.

He who dared to swim below, into the abyss;

To discover.

Who knows what he found

Down there in the deep?

Maybe I’ll go down tomorrow, the son thinks.

Maybe.

The chance to solve the mystery intrigues him.

He ponders it a while,

Then leaves his sandy perch

and follows the bubbles to the surface,

His long tail tracing ripples in the dark.