Blue skies and salty air revive
memories ancient times when
scales covered our skins and
fingers were once fins
No clouds came from smoke-stacks
or styrofoam cups littered any bays
No fishing nets trailed through waters –
just the primal silence
of sleek predators seeking prey
Now as microchips calculate
the value of all things
& life is harvested mechanically
something in my blood
yearns for the Paleozoic
O primal rapture!
Can we experience you again?
What happened to our gills?
Where are our fins?
Why aren't we in the ocean again?
Hear the author read this poem.