In Search of the Conus gloriamaris Chemnitz

In Search of the Conus gloriamaris Chemnitz

While I sit on the level diver's deck
Viewing the shallow coral reef below,
The Sulu Sea sends waves to lap my feet
And rock my chrome and fiberglass sea craft.
I check the gear required to make the dive.
The contoured backpack with its yellow tank
And matching regulator provides the air.
The blue face mask and fins adapt my eyes
And powerful leg muscles to the sea.
The black weight belt destroys the buoyant force.
I strap the black knife case to my right leg,
The heavy pressure gauge to my right arm,
And the orange life vest around my chest.
Impatiently I don the other gear.
I test the air flow form the tank and set
The bezel on my rugged diver's watch.
I check the vital air reserve device.
Now I am ready to begin the search
After what seems like half a billion years.

Splash! The primitive sea world appears
Amid a swirl of white ascending foam.
With speargun and net sack in hand I sink.
The water near my face mask is alive
With delicate, clear protoplasmic bits.
I swallow twice to kill the growing pain
In my eardrums and blow into my mask.
The coral reef comes meekly up to me
With its kaleidoscope of tiny fish
Darting among the rigid coral forms
And undulating sea anemones.
I search every hole, pit, split, crevice, crack,
Cavity, opening, depression, cleft,
And rift to find the Glory-Of-The-Seas.
My quest leads slowly down the pregnant reef
Into a darkening gray limbo, where
The larger creatures feed and breed at will.
A ray invades my field of vision near
A solitary coral boulder stuck
Between the safe reef and the dreadful deep
And flutters bleakly to the sandy tract.

Zap! The nerves below my knee react.
I kick and twist around to see the crushed
Coral and the liquid oozing from the scrape.
I check the pressure gauge--one hundred feet,
Elapsed time--forty-seven minutes plus.
I pull the steel pin on the powerhead
In perparation for a shark attack,
Turn, and swim steadily back up the reef
Toward the shallow water and my boat.
I stop to scan the rear--nothing there.
The gauge says thirty feet. I suck more air
Out of the fading tank. My salty blood
Still seeps into the salty sea as I
Ascend to find the boat. It calmly rests
Several hundred tiring yards away.
I jerk the air reserve release rod down.
I swim and swim and scan and swim and swim.
The air gives out. I clear my snorkel, then
Drop my weight belt, and scan and swim and swim.
At last the pure white boat is within reach.
Quickly my hand inserts the safety pin
And flips the sack, speargun, swim fins, face mask,
And snorkel to the nonskid forward deck.
I slosh aboard and shed the other gear,
And then regain the platform at the bow.
I settle down to rest in the warm sun.
The wet and bloody scrape coagulates
And strangles the sad reunion as I think.
The time allotted for this quest is gone,
And thoughts of other ventures come--ahh but
While I sit on the level diver's deck
Viewing the shallow coral reef below,
The Sulu Sea sends waves to lap my feet
And rock my chrome and fiberglass sea craft.