I tell you that fish swim through my brain.
They maneuver in lobes as succulent as kelp beds
a’glow in light coral and celery green.
I feel the wriggle of their lithe torpedoes,
the gentle joy they find in the currents of my thinking.
They may hide just for play,
but never lodge or stick.
Their cellophane notes of scales overlap
sounding every key without clashing.
They do not distinguish night from day
or ever hold my thoughts against me.