In 1977, between Isla Isabela

and Panama, a submarine

found a jet of warmth in deepest dark.

63 degrees. A summer sea,

clams wide as dinner plates

and beer cans. Flashdance,

white and orange and white:

skittering crabs, giant mussels,

lobsters festive on the floor.

But for the pressure,

the submariners could have joined

in party clothes.

Meanwhile,

a mere mile north,

silence.

Unrelenting,

gargantuan,

sunless cold.