C A R Y L U N A

They’re called Sea Angels,
nearly microscopic they fly
beneath the ice
in the waters near Japan.

I imagine them
a fluid, gliding
constellation–
each their own design
and distinct yet innumerable

and that maybe
we’ve got it flipped–
it’s the sky’s reflection:
we’ve been searching and insisting
for god
pining
with craned necks

doing everything we do
at the beneficence
of water.