I have a thirsty fish in me
that can never find enough
of what it is thirsty for!
Show me the way to the ocean!
Break these half-measures,
these small containers.
All this fantasy
and grief.
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Are you jealous of the ocean's generosity?
Why would you refuse to give
this joy to anyone?
Fish don't hold the sacred liquid in cups!
They swim the huge fluid freedom.
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This is how it always is
when I finish a poem.
A great scilence overcomes me,
and I wonder why I ever thought
to use language.
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