cut her slick and heavy salt-scented hair. If we dragged our toes through sunrise’s sinewy mess. If we offered the angelfish our dried-out paintbrushes and skeins of grandmother’s yarn. If we threw an underwater dinner party, ribbons of lily roots swaying over our shoulders, and served cavatappi and fusilli rigati. If we tossed New Year’s confetti to electric eels while above us blurry waterbugs skittered and glowed. If we swam into that unbrushable tangle to the bell and the spine. If the skull were made of light.