‘In a way’, he said, ‘nothing saved me until we ran the gauntlet —’

Condition blue. 
Ten or so 
barks kick it off, running 
over one ocean. 

Ripping in mean 
swimmer’s blue, 
in a competing mesne, 
inseparable in another, a gnarly magenta 
more down surf, startling 
  That swells 
the back light between us.