This is a really, um, deep poem, Robert (pun intended, heh).
It's got great merit on, at the very least, one significant level -- that of consciousness.
Leviathan, I've heard, sometimes takes on the form of dry land itself, creating misreads from sailors. Some long ago Irish monk spoke/wrote so of it. It's a brilliant idea and gives a metaphoric form to your mysterious and evocative poetry -- a handle for me to grab. You wield the pen admirably well, my good man.
In a reversal, seems to me that Davey Jones' locker is where is stowed away those few conscious notions while asleep in the deep. I wonder if when one is traveling at great depth, if that locker might not be a treasure trove holding buoyancy within.
Love the wave/ripple image. I could set myself adrift on this one owing to the symbolism you've woven in. It has legs -- sea legs.
Last edited by D Akey; 10-01-2009 at 06:25 AM.
"Not a bit is wasted and the best is yet to come. . ." -- remembered from a dream