Bathysphere

 

The ocean casts its darkness

like a man, inward:

to ascend its midnight

inside a steel bubble drifting

up toward matter’s core, sea-crush

curling around you like the killing

curiosity of a child, is not to climb

the black no-thing space is,

but a black all-thing, an everything

of turbid substance so molasses

even its quiet adds weight.

 

How furtively past your porthole

dart this nightscape’s burghers!

Cretaceous-finned fishes trawl thready,

luminous, inessential appendages,

beards evolution’s barterings

could muster little exchange for.

Outside your radium beam dim shoals

incandesce, divulging irises

of impounded rainbow, nurturing

ancestral, vestigial sunlight

under drab, conforming scales!

 

To emerge from wave-broth at terrene

intelligence’s shore of air and claim

we must await the planets,

our heel’s intaglio,

to verify our flesh as faith

affirms the soul is to deny

what looms so clear below.  There, too,

existences of meager fortune

in the crushed-foil-glittery aluminum surface

ventured, discovered a lack can thrive

and nestled down to stay.

 

 

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