After five or six years
they swim up river
belly full of roe.
To their own birth water,
dying as their mothers did
after delivering them
to a possible caviar fate
A funereal birthdayness.

Nets are waiting
for the litmus change in skin;
death’s brink
makes them a pretty pink.

August swam inside my sister; a fish
for nine months.
And like the primordial riddle
exchanged fins for legs.
He will crawl and walk upright,
crawl again ‘pon reaching
the dusk of his run.

01/07/2013

Posted on 01/07/2013
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