aquariums

Slivers.
color and flight
splintered off, things dropped by flocks
overhead, over time, passing by.
things pulled in. things lost
in disregard. wings and earth -
birds slowed in movement from
air to ocean - a thick transition.
glass fish resting their own bellies on
their own piss. dutiful, small snails
at the speed of their own light.

faces pressed close to watch.
glass houses. what’s said of those?
don’t throw. privacy's a commodity
made loose and waterlogged. his demand
and her acquiescence or its absence
filled this ocean. Nothing but windows.
No introspect. One just looks out
through ancient womb overflow, through
breaker waves that rise again. a bargain
with the moon again. a compromise
to salvage her bodies ideas of ides
and ends. Shaking the beach,
frantic as an hourglass
out of time.

in rolling distraction, she re-arranges
the carefully planned -- the constellations
of starfish and projections. Her body floats,
a planet, a muted call stretched
wide, misshapen as putty. the shallowest
tide pools still sport their sense of depth.
what do you possess when you're holding breath?
will you, for both of us?

the brown mice of mysticism, in their infinite wisdom
lean rapt against the glass.
they mock and admire the star and cat fish, as if
they’re the opening fists and barefoot hills
of mountains waltzing
through the dust.