An ode to an ancient ocean
We are all agreed that life began in the oceans,
but I wonder how.
Could it have been that the ocean looked up
and mistook the galaxies blazing with the violence of a billion stars
for its own reflection?
Or maybe the ocean felt
like I do
the frequently pointless desire
to scoop up the infinite
in rum bottles made of sturdy glass.
Could our minds have been the words
the ocean found to translate
the infinite wars
of inanimate matter on inanimate matter?
I wonder what the ocean feels now
that we have left it far behind
as our wars lay waste to entire continents
under its bleak waters.
Are we everything you imagined?
Maybe you will wake up after we have all gone asleep,
and stare anew at the skies.
I wonder if this time around
you will throw care to the winds
and just write the poems of love you have always wanted to write,
and leave brutalist literature to the brutalists,
who when faced with infinite infinities,
learn to dance,
but sadly, only one kind of dance.
