At first
glimpse, a tiny silver fish
turning over
in a water-glass, scaled flesh making the water
shine and reflect;
edge of each scale a black rill and the
opercle
standing like a fresh coin, on its edge.
Not
the matter of turning, greater oceans and expanses,
sea and saltwaters,
still, land-locked lakes, reservoirs possessed
of depths
almost solid with thought and near-dissolved generations
of everything.
Rather the tiny snag, the silver fish, and all within
our shallow shifts, ever deepening.
Caleb Cluff
Majorca 17/04/07
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