If not for the sake of Alistair, to who shall
We dedicate this diving bell?
He comes with his aniline dropper,
His bronze baby shoes,
And we have been corrugated in the square
So long we’ve grown as one,
And, yes, hair can syncopate into
The band’s brassy tune hanging in the air.
Alistair! We’ve left your felt cap
At the height of your head, please
Slide under our arms. We’re lowering
Your bell into the water,
You must steal under its corner
When we confuse the sea for the sky
And blow your famous bubbles
That burst like wishes on the surface.