Fish Eye
by Michael Gates

    My old box of filthy water
    is giving up its last gold baby.
    I remember
    the schools of bright thoughts,
    gaudy sequins, a galaxy
    of childhood reflections, the days

    when the fresh currents gurgled--
    the cataracts of Iguacu!
    Much later to be bottled up
    in this small capsule,
    this artificial Amazon...
    my bubbling, closed ocean.

    A drowned wreck, a cracked castle,
    a chest spilling jewels: old toys.
    The fish stops and rises.
    The water clouds and stills.
    I freeze and stare at that deathly eye--
    ink hole, doom pivot, whirl of the abyss.






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