I moved like a moon

.

in predictable orbit, smashed

by meteors, space pebbles

meeting my surface with deep impact, when

there were dark oceans under my skin, unseen

single forms, coupled forms, and beds of

colourless weeds, but I steadied myself

on the cold shell of repetitive expectations –

dead valleys here, dead heights there.

 

Going through the hard crust, under, into

a thicker atmosphere, currents of heaviness,

breaking barriers better off broken.

Haunted by shapes that come close and rarely touch,

in this weighted environment, by-passing predator

tentacles and jaws by instinct alone, no journey-map,

stars or horizon to act as goal or inspiration, but

 

rolling

through cross-waves with creatures captured

by a dark density like

myself, shaded, loose at the extremities, compact

at the core, thriving on plateaus of deep pressure,

salty flavours all around – so far gone from walking

that legs leave, replaced by fins, and language is not

sound, but a full-body resonance – no delay

between appetite and attainment.

.

..

Copyright © 2014 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

First published in “The Bitchin’ Kitsch”