Scent from the Abyss

From the abyss rises the scent of printed paper,
A fragrance of ink and time that does not die.
The pages, wet, open like fragile sails,
And the words learn to swim through sea currents.
The characters stretch out, swimming among algae and bubbles,
Every phrase finds breath among rocks of memory.
The commas shine like sea stars on the line of time;
And the echo of the sea returns language to the sky.