grandfather
for a betta fish
your gaze swims out to nothing. I watch from the other side as your body shimmers cerulean behind
the plastic pane of the tank, caudal and ventral waving behind you. Cortázar once took our cousin’s
place in the water but I cannot see from where you are, cannot shift to that perspective. where there
is you there is only you. perhaps you are matching my gaze. watching me from the gliding liquid. we
might recognize each other from an ancient kinship, might know one another from some deeper
knowledge written in our vertebrae and skins. my fingers. your dorsal. eyes that search for eyes. but
here at this moment we simply look at each other, caught each on our side of the barrier. listening to
the filter and the water. tilting like seaweed in the current.
