The magic and lithe light,
the chords of yellow,
dots of small light,
and bright light-catchers;
All of it consumed,
digested, made new,
made whole within me,
gave me goldfish fins,
appreciation of beauty;
Whose tears will fall,
evaporate, clean the world,
make it salty,
make it hurry to its death,
or to the well of the petty,
or to wondrous swimming souls.

Clicking tongues
and angry tongues
have before called me
an amazing boy,
an arrogant boy,
a prim and proper
distant goldfish,
breathing from the bubbles
in the deep dark heart
of a fish bowl’s water.
But I say there is a great machine
somewhere inside the center
which even I do not know,
that the angels hide in,
and bide their time in,
and resemble golden fish.

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