David O’Connell

asked, splutters, then gasps, hacks, his hand, index finger held up, a moment, it says, for he can’t catch his breath, is bent over, shoulders, head, neck jerking with the effort, fist at his mouth as if yanking a fishing line, its hook sunk deep in a branch of his wet lungs, his eyes shut tight

How far it’s come, epochs
and continents. Before man
deified the lightning’s fire …