look hard, far out across the sea seek the deepest elemental outcasts dwelling afloat thinking, navigating drifting, living better than you and me skull center. white-bone moon where eyes once were. no lids, no lies, no language. just a spiralling drift. left-right-left— two watchers mirrored in wetbone chrome. they do not blink. they do not name. beneath them: soft mouths without words, curling lips of coral and thought. they hum. they bubble. they babble in a tongue that stings the silence. hodl. huddle. snugglefireflicker. gone. (not vanished—chosen.) flame is not forbidden here. it dances downward, a river of ghostly-orange light falling like forgiveness into the mouth of a godless trench. they do not scream. they do not beg. they do not surface. they become. bubbles rise. then don’t. they pause in the water like a held breath, like secrets without a sender. you call them outcasts. but what if they are the beginning? exile was evolution what if drowning was the first true breath?