Slips from my hands
that tiny silver fish I’ve spent years trying to catch.
Just an idle line
snapping under the weight of
feather-light forgetfulness.
Give me gills, and I’ll take off my clothes
and dive in after it
(you’re just a fish out of water, they said)
but water’s hard to breathe for a land-lover like me.
Submerged,
sinking,
my life not-so-aquatic that it’ll float
and I haven’t been bailing.
Nothing’s biting and I seem to have forgotten
how to swim.

Happy summer.

I'm back.