AquariumThe surviving fish in his algae-occludedUniverse glimmers goldenly among the dimNodding plants – all plastic – whose furred fronds salute himAs he twitches past. His unnatural solitudeMakes him anxious. He is waiting, always, for foodTo dimple the clear elastic sky above him,Shivering in the filter’s wind. He does not swimFor love of swimming. Fish who stop swimming are dead –He does not know this, exactly, but feels its truthPropel him forward, forward, and around, around,Alone in his eternal fluorescent-lit day,Except that two snails are always grazing their smooth,Uncompanionable way across the lush groundOf the brown-green glass, each solitarily gray.