In danger, the holothurian divides itself in two:
Abandons one self to a hungry world
And with the other self it flees.
Splits violently into perdition and salvation,
Retribution and reward,
What has been and what will be.
A chasm appears in the middle of its body
Between what instantly becomes two foreign shores.
Life on one side, death on the other.
Here hope and there despair.
If there are scales, the balance does not tip.
If there is justice, this is it.
To die as much as needed, without excess.
To grow back as required, from the remnant that survives.
We, too, can divide ourselves.
But only into flesh and a broken whisper.
Into body and spirit.
The throat on one side,
Laughter on the other,
Quiet, quickly dying out.
Here a heavy heart,
There non omnis moriar—
Just three simple words,
Like three feathers in flight.
The abyss does not cut us in two,
The abyss surrounds us.