Marianas Trench

the little transport
of smoke mottled by
a weighty kind of
cavernous air-

that you would expect
after an eon in a cold-
dark place with shapely rocks,
tiny shells smashed
against the phosphorescent walls-

and dusty-
headed. tousled. he takes a bitter
sip, pretends it trout,
little brown birds

that build nests out-of-doors

and there is only quiet among the great fish-
the larger fish. not the ones for men nor meant
for men to see but the cave-eyed fish
who gasp

by the hot air ducts-

and there is quiet.
a value of quiet-
a smokey quiet by the smokey bridge the snake-
bridge that

distrusts greatly
the vassal-wind

it has brought many before unwilling for the greatness of wind-
but it has never
repeatedly driven off-
become less

and a happy I stands
admit the submarine hall of
steel. the steel is cold and is raggedly warlike
and maw and rough

it is not quiet. it does not

breath thru'
the cavernous transported current-