Thanks very much for taking the time to comment on this, Rhina, and thanks to everyone who posted. I'm pleased this was an enjoyable read for some of you, whether you saw any meaning in it or not. It has a personal meaning for me, but not one that I expect readers to deduce.

Maggie, there's no need to apologize for not liking this poem. Heck, I've gotten much worse reviews than that, lol. A little scathing honesty is a fine thing. I do wish you'd chill out, though, and stop being such a drama queen.

Rose, the following is no reason to adore your poem, as I do, unless it is taken as a sign from Poseidon. About three days after I forwarded it to Rhina, Alan and I decided to risk the shortcut across Miami Bay in Dreamweaver. The boat draws 4'9" and at low tide, the shallows are about 5'5". Just as we were clearing the shallow bank, an indignant ray, no doubt awakened by the uncomfortably close passage of our ray-shaped red wing keel, rose to the surface and went skipping away. Yes, I thought, Rose's poem is the one. For the record, I read its last line just as David and Rhina do.

Rose,
I share Tim's feelings about your poem. If you look at a map of New Zealand you will see that nobody is ever far from the sea. I haven't seen rays behaving as you describe but when I travelled by ship from Wellington, New Zealand, to Southampton, England--via Suez--I saw such magnificent leapng dolphins and flying fishes. I lived by the sea before I sailed for England and after pining in London I've lived near the sea in Sydney ever since. You catch the esprit and energy that I associate with the sea. Uplifting and joyous.
Janet

Rhina you wrote:
Good point, Janet, the delight itself is the esence of the poem. But David's right that the last line opens the poem in an unexpected direction, namely religious thought. Is the poet suggesting that the delight visible in the behavior of living things somehow negates disbelief? That it implies the existence of a Maker who is having one helluva good time creating--much as a poet has in writing--and that the delight is transmitted to the creature--or poem?

I have my own pagan version of that feeling. A sense of being part of (pace Maggie) the dance of life. I feel too unimportant to be sure my feeling of being a part of something enormous and beautiful and dangerous is evidence of a Maker, but I understand that version of my feeling and could describe it like that. In this poem of mine:
Wildfire Remembered I say it better. I just can't name things.

I believe they are the same feelings and Rose's last lines express them beautifully.

The dance is so important.
Janet