You dive into the breath-filled currents, spine rattled almost pleasantly by silent pressure. Remember the whirlpools? Vast spirals of sand and echoes spinning upideas, debris from across the coast, here it languishes in pockets of stillness.
Upon brisk currents, optimal rotation is found; the self-indulgent loop kuttered into understanding a sing song of worn shadows. Reflection inevitably refracted...and then.
Your entwine with gentle undisrupted glide paths incessant right round; always re-folding. Sifting through alrightness.