Hawaiian bobtail squid are born as wide
eyed moustaches, blobs of speckled nothing,
of their own shadows. They sift
the night water for specific bacteria
to tickle into a pouch.
The bacteria live, counting themselves
(Are we enough to act?)
(Will the world notice us?)
When they hear the echoed
(yes) (yes) (yes)
and the squid devour their own shadows.
Then every night, they feed their pouch
until it shines. To the teeth
that wait below
they become moonlight.
When the night is over and the squid
slither down to sleep in the sand
they vomit forth their brightness
until their insides dim in loneliness
and the sea is enriched with tomorrow-light.
You tell me this and I wonder
how many transparent secrets are hid
by making your viscera luminous.
Robin Lamboll researches climate change and human emissions, and writes on the intersection between the natural and the human. Robin has won Cambridge, UK and Madrid international poetry slam finals, and came second in the World Cup of Slam in 2019.