There are no other eyes like mine right
now:
the blue-with-layered-golden, like a thread
pulled through water, or the shadow of a plane
on a lake’s surface. Underneath the fish
watch, gape-eyed, bleary, for just a moment
before turning to other things, more pressing.
Fish concerns, mysterious to us. There are
no other eyes like the fishes’, either, but once,
long ago or maybe long from now, the eyes
were, will be alike, seeing the same riverbed from
the same vantage, holding the same opinions,
in general if not specific. Our anthems will rhyme.
Or did. Or will again, if given enough time.
the blue-with-layered-golden, like a thread
pulled through water, or the shadow of a plane
on a lake’s surface. Underneath the fish
watch, gape-eyed, bleary, for just a moment
before turning to other things, more pressing.
Fish concerns, mysterious to us. There are
no other eyes like the fishes’, either, but once,
long ago or maybe long from now, the eyes
were, will be alike, seeing the same riverbed from
the same vantage, holding the same opinions,
in general if not specific. Our anthems will rhyme.
Or did. Or will again, if given enough time.