Hunting Mermaids, hour seven

Cocooned in coral, long fins glitter and gleam.

Cool, sweet oxygen filters, and I breathe deep

the dark, fathomless waves above.

Lights sweep above, too bright, flashing,

and the metal beast descends.

Brood-mother tells me they are humans,

like us, but land-dwellers. They do not understand

the singing stars and the pulse of the moon,

they sink and search, but for what?

Their ghosts linger everywhere now, and I swim on,

though every now and then a bright light pierces close, and I dart,

letting them catch a glint of my tail before I flee,

alone. Soon, the ocean will be mapped, and I will be the last.

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