Oceans fish stars, that are overhead, swimming;
those dying masses of sun, looking the night sky
to pieces.  Silver dots barely skimming
deep dwelling currents that invisibly ply sky
netting that makes the sea’s mirror, a gridded
field filled with shoals of stars setting small fires
that out last the jettings of Amber Jack and squid
around a sea turtle who they easily tire.
Filled with eggs, ready to be this moon’s batch
on a brief beach made white by the nights contrast.
Not all turtles will inevitably hatch.
Those who will, will live if lucky and fast.
The stars, that insignificantly wink,
ride the currents that rise and sink