from behind my eye I glance at her and wonder with what shades she sees the world
and I think about how tightly she grabs her body,
as though her heart were falling out,

through her tissue skin I see that her blood is grey,
her brain is grey,
her grey guts spilling like inky oily sludge and flooding even the sun,

in april, living in an endless december, the weeds now soggy in her veins,

and as I peer into this rippled reflection I wonder how my little fish soul,
moving only with the pull of the stream,
lived in that lightless world of death