DAVID FLUSBERG

GALAPAGOS

Thirty meters below
the Rainbow of Rock,
there is a sanctuary
where the Mind’s Eye
munches the marrow
of evolution.

It is a place, a space,
a state,
which evolves
in the fellowship of Hammerheads,
the animal spirits encountered
up above and down under.

Those beings borne
by pure energy,
the electric charge
of their primordial instincts
humming and buzzing
like haunted honeybees
home for dinner
in the cozy zen
of their dive-hive den.

They circle around and around
and around,
and hypnotize me
with their snake charms,
beckoning me
to extend the limits
of my human tissue,
and to linger in the fluid
of Pachamama’s gut,
just a bit longer.

The fibers
of great waters,
the shimmering ingredients
of Babba’s soup,
the synchronized locomotion
of primitive brothers;
this ocean clenches
a timeless consciousness,
which glues us to it.

I see it beating
like a cordiform drum,
I hear it breathing
without fleshly lungs,
I feel only
the gravitational waves
of my magnetic dreams.

I know that this
is where I came from,
and where I must return.