037: Life in the shallows

In the shallows, writhing,

in the shade of concrete reefs,

fish colonies migrate

in clockwork cycles,

dead hand precision

beneath uncaring gaze,

salty, liquid today,

the dance of anemones reflects

the demons' tar,

the dark side of mirrors.

Tomorrow, the dawn of triumph

will take us all away

into the blue,

yet the flame's still unconsummed

the epic of my pitch,

unwritten.

Fish swirl around in steel tornadoes,

but I cannot give birth

to so needed new words

for a cardiac language.

Pearl fishers from the other side

observe seconds

of these fleeting lives,

another fold

in the same veil;

and the doused embers are voiceless

as lightning sparks run

through Ranvier nodes,

on highways of grey,

never far enough.

Words fail again

to redeem the mute,

before the reach of dreams,

the thrust of exile, when gills unbreathe,

so I'll paint the blue

with burning oil

and elect silence

as my new tongue;

as long as these fibers pump and grind

I know I'll never die.