Color is for us monsters,
not the denizens
of murky water and biofilm.
Smaller than the wavelength of red,
it's a gray, dark place
like a time
before God
granted us beauty.
On a mission
to micro-Mars, I know
they would fear me
if they could comprehend me.
I don't envy them.
We can do what they do.
They live for perspiration.
Excreting is how they talk,
sending messages of body products,
listening for echoes with their skins.
What the Micronaught Said to the Photography Club
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