THE FISH

The stream moves and fish move in the steam, they flash leaping into the liquid air like tongues speaking or kissing, they strike home. Returned again, they sleep in the gliding stream in shadow or in sun glare leaping or diving they stay the same and their way is the way of all tongues speaking as they kiss what they seek in the lifeless air first wet breath; to sulk low in the sand yawning the life giving air in until caught of danger of desire to a new with they speak to themselves to the sweet air of death

… to tongue forth the rarest syllable of all not loves nor any holy name but that cry wrung of the thrown body of love flung outward to meet the simplest deceiving thing: of death this all but movement beyond the inventions of the stream spend beyond recapture fed of the fleeting lure