Can they hear themselves, can they hear each other, their colony of
pulsing tides
a contrapuntal opening and closing of two dozen bells
and the parasitic hieroglyphs upon their bells—
brown scripts on greenish-white translucency
that some thing reads, some body—
That brown script maps out paths
of symbiotic algae they (the jellyfish) can harvest
(for themselves!). Inside, small fish
may nest till they grow big (inside the bell).
Translucency dissolves (like beauty)
or is brimming. Besides: a synesthesia!
Many mouths on “oral arms” for zooplankton,
phytoplankton. God
of the waters, god of air, had you
a nothing choir to fill one liquid night
with dreaming down mellifluous little
stings?
Lisa Williams is the author of three poetry collections, including The Hammered Dulcimer (Utah State) and Gazelle in the House (New Issues). She teaches at Centre College and is series editor of the University Press of Kentucky New Poetry and Prose Series.
Photo by Tavis Beck on Unsplash
