Mucilage Probing the Deep

You begin on the waves.
They’re not happy with you.
You are too green. Those roots!

Your roots distress the waves.
Not touching bottom, yet,
Can’t reach anything, yet,

But look at them dangling,
Groping for a bottom,
Something to take hold of—

And then what? What happens
To the endless expanse
Then, if your roots tips touch

Anything they can hold
On to, a coral reef,
A shipwreck, the sea floor?

What will become of us?
You are hungry, boring
Through the waves that bore you.