tiny offspring of a bubble cluster

Who knew this little bit of spillage 

contained multitudes of what we all 

 

boil down to? Microorganisms 

swim a surface the wet silver 

 

of Poseidon's eyes. Spiralized lines, 

pulsing globules, tiny sacs filled with aspic. 

 

Obscenely, you can see right through 

them, sometimes down to their nuclei. 

 

They come in lovely colors. 

Is this natural or has the scientist 

 

who slid their slide under the microscope 

stained them orange, ochre and blue 

 

for better viewing? Their outlines 

waver like hand-drawn cartoons. 

 

They resemble party favors, 

tiny offspring of a bubble cluster 

 

and the plankton alphabet. 

Why, then, have I been so afraid 

 

of what I am made of breaking down 

into constituent parts, of one day 

 

rejoining this infinitesimal assembly, 

of becoming an orgy of particles 

 

too (beautiful and) numerous to count? 

 

[Amy Gerstler {1956- } 'A Drop of Seawater Under the Microscope', from The Best American Poetry 2016]