You’re Not Supposed to Do it, But

You’re not supposed to do it,
but you made yourself a bet you could
illicitly fish up a proto-thought, all wet,

from its subaqueous arraignment
in its cognitive cold hatchery –
the undersea gray purgatory where

all nascent thinking slips and slinks
and intermixes: proto-thinks its eely way
into persuading Mind to summon it

to consciousness. You scooped one up:
success! It seemed remarkably
unstressed: inspected all the yellow

brightness to which you’d subjected it –
accepted it without a fight. It seemed
it might be just the sort of thought

you’d like. Peeking left and right,
you sneaked it back into the whirling
pearly swarm of its still-forming

embryonic brethren: quite delighting
at the sight. You hope it will return when
it's a touch more ready for the light.


 
 
 
 
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