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I wrote this song for my wife on the occasion of her 29th birthday, a year before I proposed on my fortieth. It’s a love song and a promise. Dana once wrote a poem about me called The Above The Sea World of Jacques Cousteau, named for a ridiculous episodic TV sketch I was the writer and featured performer of during my first career - writing for television. The sketch documented a band of scuba gear-clad explorers (tanks and flippers on), roaming the streets of New York City, examining the curious behaviors of the humans who inhabit the world above the sea. I gather from Dana’s poem that she thought the sketch indicated something about me that might be worth keeping an eye on. Her poem goes like this:


What can I tell you of my life,

I who barely can remember?

What was logged was sunk,

like wet clothes or bodies when their owners

have grown sick of them. Like pets into the lime.

Of course, everyone I met was strange,

and maybe they thought the same of me:

how I reached and recoiled like an anemone,

how the sounds of breathing and of blood

surrounded me. The ceiling of my bedroom shimmered

with the reflection of an imaginary swimming pool.

Someone, loving me, said my eyes were glassy,

like the bottom of a boat, but what was there,

what I had and lost, I never fathomed.