Point Nemo

There is a place 
in the center of the sea, 
so far from solid ground, that 
if a man were to travel there 

he would be microscopic to
his closest human neighbor-
who, at the moment, is
eating apple sauce upside-down
in the international space station,
two hundred and fifty miles
above his head. 

Treading water, knowing this, 
he looks up,
marveling at the 
bright blue blanket of sky
that conceals the abyss 
in which we float; 
which contains our 
whole lives, 
and every life that has 
ever been lived. 

He marvels also at his own
invisibility,
insignificance.

This- 
this is not a world that belongs to us. 
you must know that. 
This world is hers and 
hers alone: 
the sea turtle, 
now noiselessly gliding beneath
his pale, swirling legs.

Before she dies, she will have
known 250,000 miles of ocean.
In other words, 
ten times around our planet.
In other words, 
a scale of vastness 
that has nothing to do 
with us.
It is called Point Nemo, 
after all–
Point No Man.

We whisper legends, 
giving this place far away names, 
around smoldering camp fires 
while the fire ants nibble our ankles. 

Meanwhile, she- 
she is utterly at home, 
doing nosedives and
with her scaly wings, 
soaring over the deep abyss 
covering our planet.

Soaring, 
in the absolute 
middle of nowhere.