The Day When I Got Hatched
On this day, in 1964, in a deep-sea hydrothermal vent, almost ten thousand feet down along the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, I squiggled forth from beds of giant tube worms and albino crustaceans. I drew my first watery breath, sucking in superheated brine, belched forth by black smokers and loaded with nutritious sulfides and acetyl thioesters, and then
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And curse your dark soul for posting those RIFT pics. I just got over my WoW addiction.
You must!
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would die. Yet things breathe there and call it home
who perish elsewhere. There's a massive dome
lost in those depths. A tendril slowly wreathes
its way up, round a pillar, up again
onto the architrave. It seeks the sky
it senses far above, yet it would die
burst like a bubble. We would go insane
if we should see it. Yet we know it's there-
it haunts our dreams, it nourishes our art.
Has power over us, because apart.
A presence we depend on like the air.
And you, dear Beast, if we could see you clear
would madden, yet we praise for being here.
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And here I sit blushing. Thank you.
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