using that fallen angel’s chemical,
luciferin. Some creatures make their shine
through photosynthesis, then sink down

to the abysmal depths, bringing a piece
of the sun with them. Some evolved that way,
and evolved that way, and evolved that way,

at least forty different times, each species
learning that no one would come to burn
a path ahead. They must make their own light

to survive. Still others discovered
if they can’t make luciferin themselves,
store-bought is just fine. They offer their own

flesh as a home for glowing bacteria.
Born dark and dim, they secrete pungent
flavors for bacteria to sniff out,

then beat their cilia, sweeping in their light.
But all angels know the risk of shining
too bright. It does not do to attract

the attention of those darkened shadows
above. Those daytime creatures made of mud
and clay, golems for their master’s delight,

hate the twilight twinkle of tentacles
waving just out of sight. Still, the hagfish
and the gulper eels, the vampire squids

and salps, nudibranchs and I, with my sharp
teeth, lurking in the dark, vow to glow.
When I and my fellow angels fall,

sinking down into drifts of marine snow,
feast upon our flesh. Know that our bodies
are broken for you. Take and eat.