In her goldfish bowl
She arcs her back
And diligently, industriously
Pushes through the sometimes tepid,
Sometimes briney;
Always wishing
For the sweet, crystal shallows.
Yet eyes outside
Mark her weave,
So weighty and not an inch to move.
She labours simply to breathe.
How she once loved to glide:
Gold and silver flashes,
Skipping against the tide
To sleep safe in weeping rushes.
When night's silver veil fades
Into the sparkling sheen.
There she zig-zags a parade
To seek, to kiss the deeper green.
Treading hard to break the surface,
She murmurs, barely a gasp.
Her tears unnoticed in the sea,
For a time of flashing brilliance;
And the reeds, once her safety,
Only drag heavily on mottled scales.
And the deeper green never found
In her goldfish bowl; her jail. |