The window frames a story of storm;
black cumulonimbus, churning waves
and cracking light; a night for indoors.
The room’s lines are distinct. In my dreams
there’s always been a lack of edge. I am
awake & watching the world turn outside in.
Moonlight catches the ocean’s pleats,
illuminates her hidden veins beneath gilt-
edged clouds, gathering in a copper frame.
I hear thunder close enough to set off
a pounding in my chest. I do not see
the lightning streak across the sky
but feel it pierce my silver skin, lift me
clean of the tide, exposing my underside
in the crackling-static air. I am singular;
propelled from the shifting rainbow shoal
where each tilt & turn seems laid down
in my very bones, etched in fin and tail.
I gasp once; fail to feel the sea trickle
through my gills. I long to breathe
the strangeness, fill phantom lungs,
no longer coffined by an endless swell;
thrust into a new-fangled, half-lit scene,
staring, with unblinking eyes, at the stars.
Written in response to ‘Untitled – Speared fish’ by Ebrahim Ehrari