Under the river of the world, the world.

And beneath that palace, a palace—just the same.

From the quarry ledge, boys dive

over and over into blue sky:

it always greets them the same,

laughter, then towels, and going home with watery ears.

It sings to them then for hours, hushing the rest—

family, dinnerware, tires spinning by, all stilled.

Open-winged for those moments between world and world,

the rooms leading one to the next,

each linoleum floor marble-cool,

the ceilings stencilled with waterlilies, stars.