This was not as when Icarus fell.

There was no hubris.

The marines were strapped face forward,

looking through the hatch.

The pilot worked the controls with precision.

Nonetheless the blade uncoupled

with a great whack

as when a fan belt breaks loose.

Afterward, the ocean was as flat

and lusterless as mercury.

A lava lamp, fantastically slow.

I remembered these dead

when I saw the anemones

undulating and opening their senseless,

sensitive mouths.

They were rippling in the tide pools.

They were cool to eventuality, opportunists,

insensate.

Also luscious,

brilliant in color,

mute, rhythmic, living.