The diving bell went down, went down

deep, deep into the water's dark.
Plankton forms hung like stars on the hull
and all the windows misted over
as the silence grew.
The crew of one looked round,
doubtful of the journey,
of its sense, its validity,
and as the blackness toughened
and the groaning metal
groaned some more,
all connection with the surface faded
into tangled tubes and static.
When the walls began to buckle
and the inboard lights petered and completely
failed, cold invaded the headspace, the
airspace, the helmeted suit began
to fill-up with fear -
now was not the time to start
crying, she thought,
as the starfish mooched their way
along the silver sides.
The implosion was a
sudden gut punch -
then nothing swam
in the space where
something had been travelling.

The ship above heard a
muffled thud, before the cables
yanked, then slackened, hung 
drifting 
as bubbles surfaced
and a starfish floated
upside down, its pale underbelly
suckered-out, its pink arms
scarred and worn
from too much
and too close
holding on.

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