PANIC OF FISH

The sea is weak

from surrendering its fish,

and the fish fatigued from raising

white flags. In our local aquarium,

by the dolphin carousel,

there’s an infographic

as blue as the carpet,

the salt stays silent,

water laps itself dry;

weeping, it remembers

the whale’s trombone thudding

upon sand in anguish.

Fins against glass—watch

the tails whip about—

the sea calls to its child:

Can you be happy

apart from me? How did we

convince ourselves

that scales can gleam

in fluorescent light?

Fins against glass—my hands

sliding along the tank.

On display, an unnaturally

cheery family of sea turtles

poised for flight, framed by charts

showing the decline

of seahorses and disappearing

starfish. Their five octagonal shells

once held up the whole world.