Happy Birthday. A nebula based on your eye
exploding explodes far above on the surface.
It doesn’t bother the sea life.
The mackerel traffic is smooth, the shark inert.
To them, there’s only one depth,
but many deaths. Are you happy
the opposite’s true for us? The ocean is just
the pressure a grandmother
uses to muffle fireworks, her hand-knit pillows
keep you from saying you must be hungry,
or you are forgiven.
The process relentlessly gentle. Now our silk-screen
dye into the current. Your superhero sheet cake
eases away from us like a coffin in deep space
where cardamom & sugar are sealed in a vacuum,
& every meal is seasoned
by a professional. It’s less that you have chosen
a hostile environment, more that the precautions
needed to visit you
make us marionettes, flight-plan martinets
concerned about lung capacity & how to combat
darkness with indifference. Fuck these trick
invisible tea cups you have us use, our pinkies up.
We know their salt is infinite.