A Cave of Angelfish
Huddle Against the Moon
Put an ear to the
light at fall
of dark and you will
hear
nothing. This pale
luminescence
that drifts in upon
them
makes a blue bole of
their caves,
a scare of their
scything
tails. They tell
in the bubbling dark
of images
that come in upon
them
when light spreads
like an oil slick
and sea fans
that once were their
refuge
turn away.
Now there is no dark
dark enough for their
silver tails,
scatter of color
(like coins massively
piling in the lap of
a miser)
that was, in the day,
their pride.
How hugely here we
belong.
This is their song
in the silting
drift of the reef.
They have never seen
the moon
nor the black scut of
night, stars
spread like plankton
in their beastly
infinities.
Ron De Maris
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