display | more...

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

so easily.

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.