The boat was scarcely a boat and the bombs, miniature
as we finally swam out and grabbed them

there was a lens embedded in the glass of the window and the boat sending waves, signals of light
we identified the source
at last, of the plot

flailing around in the water in our evening dresses on the surface of it and very aware
of the surface, being on top of something
we walked along the old verandah to his room and saw the lens in the window

& met him next day at the Quay during his lunch hour we were all excited and afraid
though what we thought were bombs
& which were bombs

were tiny transistor batteries
and next evening we rowed all the way across the harbour absolutely sure of our disguises
the boat sat on the water but far closer than we thought before we lay down to sleep on the dusty carpets in his room and as we drew up to the boat, silently
we could reach out, we saw the beams of light
& he arrived just then in his best blue suit
& jumped into the water too, quite unnecessarily
because, I had the boat actually in my hand
like a child in its bathtub
and more immediate, was the cold harbour
the sense of its depth, & us laughing, on top of it.