the narrated footage of muusoctopus robutsus omits their withering away

I want to tell you about the purple octopuses, more
than a thousand nestled into grooves of volcanic
rock. I want to show you how there are streams and curls

of them, hills of purple globes underwater, and not even
the researchers can see where they end. They’re females
mostly, brooding, caving their shiny eggs. They keep

their eggs unsandy and safe. They eat less and less
as their eggs grow older and then the octopuses grow
into water (I read this later). You would know

which shade to name them—I’ve tried lavender
and lilac, iris comes closer, but these octopuses
are surrounded by gastropods and anemones

and I don’t want to plant flowers underwater. Better try
and stop naming everything that comes
my way—womanoctopus, cliffside-tentacled-

motherhood—and just watch them
wrap their arms around themselves
and around themselves and the ocean.