“Coral pinks of life-full flesh, the fingertip the needle pricks.

The gasp of startled pain, the lips

that close the wound.


Coral crimson of veins, of tentacles

that coil lithe, like curiosity, beyond the edge of things.

Crimson coral of tentacles, of fingers, that curl around the edge of life.


Awareness scatters in a cloud of black ink;

flees into the dark depths.

The current washes the ink away.

The current washes the pink away.


And on the surface, the birds flit capricious,

Indifferent to the depths of things;


Innocent to consequence.”