rumors have surfaced
that you are in love again.
tiny bubbles of sweetness lodged in your throat.
heard from unfamiliar friends,
and you the least of both those things.
those pockets of air did you good.
meanwhile, fish, gasping
thrashing on hot sandstone, pleading and
beached like nothing so small should be.
there are too many words for the things water wrecks
the need and lack of it, like a tide.
but memories are not balance sheets.
they are collateral.
and fish have no use for them, they remain
preoccupied with more pressing matters