Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Lenten Sonnet #35


The surviving fish in his algae-occluded
Universe glimmers goldenly among the dim
Nodding plants – all plastic – whose furred fronds salute him
As he twitches past. His unnatural solitude
Makes him anxious. He is waiting, always, for food
To dimple the clear elastic sky above him,
Shivering in the filter’s wind. He does not swim
For love of swimming. Fish who stop swimming are dead –

He does not know this, exactly, but feels its truth
Propel 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 ground
Of the brown-green glass, each solitarily gray.

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