I lived once on the ocean floor,
All robot help and sliding doors,
And thought seldom of the shore.
Until I received one night A letter from my grandfather,
And the letter read: "Dear Empty Head, Ye who dwell on ocean's bed,
I send this by the cracked moon's light, It likely be the last I write.
I'll take soon flight For a long journey's while To the Ninth Isle,
Remember me as I will you, All tree houses and untied shoe,
In hope someday we meet again, Your distant kin, Sebastian."
But a farewell by letter is little better Than no farewell at all, so on a young man's whim,
For my grandfather, I set off in search of him...
I left by quiet my stately keep,
The escape was easy, guards asleep,
And wandered 'bout on tiptoe feet, The tall glass halls and cold steel streets,
And found, at last, an airlock,
But for love or none Could find no life suit or aqualung.
So, deep breath then,
I go to find Sebastian.
Then airlock open, And off into the freezing hug of the dark ocean,
And struggling up, heart kicking like a drum then, Limbs and lungs all done then,
And the next thing I knew, I woke again.
All gasping and flail, and wet as whales, And most pinned by wind And water, a storm, ye, a storm,
Hell's teeth, and I at the center.
And I, swimming as though possessed, And I, to die, and senses arrested, And kick my legs in fit of fear
And knew no north from south or my mouth from my arse, as I rolled about in the water.
But God, air, and true wind on my face,
For I had not known such a thing In all my remembering,
And though I might well drown and sink true down to the ocean floor once more in but a minute's stem,
For this moment, swirling in those salt eddies, I was a boy again.
And stormy though the night was hung, Beyond that storm, I knew, the Sun.
Nay, but I was still at fate's behest, and had no interest in the valley of death,
And by width and breadth did trial about a long while,
And the water did carry me along and put my soul and breath asunder,
So this is how it ends, the long going under.
And with water in my mouth, goodnight. Yes, give up air and everywhere,
Yes, goodnight. I go to seek a water sleep.
But fate was hard at play And I woke again, this time day,
The storm a year away So far as the sky told that story,
A beach whereupon the sea had spat me out like some dislikeable pip.
And I alive and washed ashore with bones and balls all sore, And what's more, there in the sky's maw
Was the moon in cracked spoils of dead rock,
As though God Himself had struck it with his mighty Galactic co-
But nay, there a man approached along the sand and called to see if I was all right.
And his face became familiar of a sudden.
"Grandfather?" I said.
"Err, no?" replied he with concerned eyes on me and continued,
"Sir, whatever ordeal you've just been through Has perhaps relieved the sense from you.
May I ask your name?"
And though I did my best not to show it – My name, I realized, I did not know it.
And my companion helped me to my feet, led me down the beach,
And I walked bent double, Still reeling from the morning's trouble.
Then said he, checking my memory,
"And how old is your grandfather?"
Said I, "I don't recall at all. Perhaps you're right, I'm rattled slight from the ocean."
"Okay," he said, "then which island is it you're from?"
"I'm not from an island," I said.
"I hail from beneath the sea and that great aquatic nursery.
For I am but twenty-one years old, And from youth's throws, I escaped the watery below For one last hour with the man who taught me all I know."
And slow he said, "But you are too young. You shouldn't be above the water.
Not until their one-hundredth year Can nursery folk yet come up here."
I only avoided his chiding stare And took great gulps of salt sea air.
Finally he said, "I think it best we find this grandfather of yours and get you to safe keeping.
No isle is distant, mind, And I've a vehicle of my own design.
Come along. We'll make it wherever together."
And he led me to some great balloon whereupon we got in,
And though he touched no gauge or board, The craft set off of its own accord.
We were out over the water then, and I saw the stories were true, so these lands were an archipelago,
many islands scattered higgledy here and there, and I shouted to the man, "Are they a totality?"
"Nay," said he, "each is its own little principality,
And just like your nursery, one lives on the isle fitting of their age –
As you were too, if the rules you actually obeyed."
And pointing then he shouted: "There that land of birch and oak Does house those juvenile century folk,
And there that land with beach and pier Suits those in their two hundredth year,
The three hundreders are to the west, The fourth prefer the forest best,
And so on, I shan't recount them all, We've not far to go and our time is small."
"Sir," I said, "with all these folk living so high on time's shelf,
I wonder if I might ask you how old you are yourself?"
And he replied, "Let's say if there be a tree That needs watering once a century,
Then I have filled my watering can eight times so far."
I could not help but stare at this man who, ignoring his demeanor, Appeared physically only five years my senior,
And in perfect health, but had somehow, eventually, aged eight centuries.
And before I could comment there appeared, upon the horizon, Rising up skywards,
Some needle wound At least ten thousand feet 'bove ground.
"Vishnu's arse!" I cried, "What is that?"
"A tower, whereby," he did reply, "It kisses tongues the edge of sky,
And if you were to reach its spire, You'd see the breadth of space entire.
It proves most convenient for ascending objects into orbit without need of fuel or speed.
And though keep your eyes open yet," he mumbled slight, And five seconds hence did see him right,
For overhead and yonder yet Were craft wide as twenty jumbo jets,
Seemingly sitting there in the air by dare of whim.
"Oh gods, you're all so clever!" I cried. "You built all of this?"
"Aye," he said. "Year to year ascended each By hammer's knack and number's reach."
And quite a while we watched the scene, His face sincere, then turned to me and said, "Young man,
be honest, What is it you want with your grandfather? Really?
Are you so bold, you can't just let the old be old?"
"Nay," I said, "I wish to talk with he who by longevitys, like you, has endured the centuries.
Besides he says he's going elsewhere and I'd like to follow him there.
His letter said the Isle of nines If that's his ground That's where I'm bound.
Actually, I wonder if I asked, dare you to get me there."
He was quiet a while, pokered face No smiles, and said
"so you think age leads to becoming some Great Sage do you?
Yes, I'll get you to your grandfather
But we'll take the scenic route on our way to the Isle of the nines"
"Fine," said I
our bearing changed then South was bound for some small spit of sandy ground
"I think," said he, "we'll search about and see if we can't out some of that wisdom you crave"
and before I could protest we'd set down and come ashore and were bounding over pier floor
and up then sand and jungle thick and Cut our way with will and stick and emerged before a town
in the suburbs folk were felling trees and hauling Shore great carts of iron ore
then further in were folk who looked as young as I and dancing 'Neath the broke moon sky
all necking bottles gin and beer then coupling up to disappear
which Isle is this, I asked my Friend. I'm barely two decades old they act younger yet.
The Isle of ones said he all here have aged at least one century
He left me down the winding paths of open debauchery and open bars
and folk who clear appeared They slept perhaps three days a year
and we came upon a woman bare, all dancing legs and wild blonde hair
My friend proclaimed "Oh Lady mayor I've brought for thee one cub straight from the nursery
and he has questions for his elders"
She regarded me