The kelp, plankton, and krill,
which once thrived, my beasts to fill,
are failing through an ailing I can’t see.
And I’m unwell myself,
for the continental shelf
spills dread infection continuously.
I suspect creatures dry
have dared nature to defy,
taken much for granted their right to be.
For rocks moan of an ache,
and I hope for all our sakes
that these humans can cure our frailty.
But they I fear – insane –
forget I feed all their rain,
and for a vital world, need healthy me.