I prefer not to discuss that time period
when we were all fish, slippering and full of air
before protest songs of refuse and decay
and when the stream was blurred blue,
no reflection of your sky.
No long ago remembering,
for a hundred years is nothing
to a volcano, to a distant star, to the joy
of all the green grassiness of death.
From long ago, passed the wordless years
that galaxies remember in star scripture,
that castles or temples remember in rock
colors more subtle than your greys
and browns, that cannot be killed
Instead, let us discuss how eyes see,
in a blurred stream or how similar
our silver skin shines when sun comes,
how gills function, or the ripple of wind
on the lost physics of water,
when viewed from below the surface.
Let us wonder how to become what you want,
how time is remembering and remembering
is also time, oh, fellow fish,
oh, fellow citizens of this world, so blurred,
a hundred years passed,
peace never on the horizon line.