Womb
John M. Castagna
The sea floor, sand, stone, ancient sediment, silent To us Speaks millennia talk to puffer fish, sea snail, dead And dying But life comes again, salted, warmed, phosphoresced We guess At lives born again and again, bubbling, singing, unknown And yet Pushing, throbbing Coriolis driven, storm-stirred New forms Known to dolphin, manta, sea snake, only there Not here We rise above, unwelcomed, unbreathable, yet for survival We depend On their lives, its life, its heating death or cooled life.
Our ocean. Our womb.
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