by Michael E. Mathieu
Look! A swimming shadow,
she rises from Sheol.
A spectre, a phantom—
wiggling and twitching,
darting to and fro.
A sickle tail, angled fin,
cutting ‘cross cobalt blue.
She thrashes her bent dagger
in vain; they’re plastic lures.
Ah! She feels the steel—
the fury of Furies,
a blue sea Mastodon!
Like an outraged Messiah,
she walks the mirrored sea.
Kicking crystals and diamonds,
incandescent sides, aflame.
Then–an ephemeral hole,
for the cerulean blue sea,
tis all that you leave.