and guppies are swarming,
hiding from the carp in the depths,
showing themselves in
the morning light like hot coals
in the cool shallows, afraid to risk
the center of the pond, so much more
room to move, so much space
to school up and make shapes
in the currents, so much
for different worlds, so much for
a taste of the universe, there may be
teeth and stomach acid, let alone
whatever fish know as god—
the glimmering sun? flakes of bread?
the stalking heron at the edges?