Once, the fish swam in the night sky –
a galaxy inside her belly.
She bore stars and pushed out tears, recalling
The angry cycle of mourning the living.
I had the chance to talk with her,
a chance to travel around her galaxy.
I saw the cycle churning,
filling and unfilling her fists,
palms milk white.
I felt the pain safely escape away
from her memory, from the dark house.
Although she lost the tears,
the memory of it twinkles.
Dead and alive in her sky.
Astronomers attach no name to that time,
That spiral pattern.
That place ejected from her insides.
I looked at the fish finding his way in the night.
He broke out and fell
into a motion you’ll remember as no accident.
You felt it coming. The pale wind
reaching for him.