Spherevirginia Rides
the Sea Unons
L. Edgar Otto June,
2012
The SphereVirgin
cradled the Uni-urchin in her hands for it had broken free in the freedom of
the seas from the nets of the fisher-folk in far away Nippon.
She did not know if
she pushed it along with her tail-fin or it pulled her through the undercurrents
and whirlpools of the salty brine as if waterspout filled wind.
In her wake the shoal
of fish as if lesser mare maids followed her each in line and all directions as
if lesser sea-lings the scuddy sea carved in her image.
Sometimes they were
aligned as if part of a net all facing the same way and sometimes they dispersed disconnected in all directions but in chance cycles formed again.
Their antics
disturbed the mare maid's dreams for she fancied herself one who cares and to
the care she needed she was blind, her soul still without its human dream.
Yet she was wiser
than the hive and herd of fish that their dreams and code within would not
unravel her sense of adventure and self, each diverse image unique in each
other
Some of them stayed
close to her warm blooded source of light and played the groves of her electric
space the lay lines of her electric song radiating from her magnetic body.
Yet the sea although
an endless shore to crawl up upon in dreams too had its sea-lings and these too
would rest beyond the equator that defines the night, the lucky ones attached
Of which she could
feed them light and phosphor and teach them as she had struggled to learn and
yet she mourned that in the crystal snowflake memory her care vaguely recalled
The transition to the
shore for to dust return to heat the yoke and germ and shell of unon eggs
takes the risk to find the one among the tens of thousands that leave the nest
The palm bending
hurricane winds can break and wash out the turtle eggs before they take the
chance to swim out to see at one with its compass spin from its crystal core
within
The great colossus of
iron and bronze, of Neptune and his youthful gift, the Horse, new sea-lings and
their hippodrome returns this wonder of the world to scrap forgotten, sold
Yet the statue was
not the god himself, anymore than the mare-maid had but a body made of muscles
and marrows
no feet for stirrups
to aim and guide time's arrows
Even in the world as
hypersea, blood and salt, there is no guarantee the soul is gained or caught in
nets or harpoons nor one through all the phase space, or many moons.
* * * * *
* * * * *
I cannot say that I like that. I would prefer not to read my name there.
ReplyDeleteOK, Ulla but it was meant with the utmost respect. I will change it, perhaps Unons.
ReplyDeleteYou are a catalyst for our new ideas. Sorry.
The PeSla
Ye, but I am 'allergic' to seeing my name. It almost always feels bad. Too much bad memories, I think.
ReplyDelete