So different every minute as they learn
The upward paths to this relatively
Dreary though still endearing place, where we
Once having jumped the dam must spawn and die
Eventually. For now we just swim
A circular daily pattern while our
Young swim upstream, sighing with pride as they
Negotiate each obstacle with grace.
Though it seems like they no longer listen
A tail or dorsal fin sometimes betrays
That actually they have heard what we said
All these years, and we thrill that they exceed
Our leaping days of old, clearing the dam
With more ease and strength than we could show when
It was our turn. We have grown long, with scales
Like armor plate, while their wet skin still shines
Uncertain with vulnerability.
Swollen soon with potential our young spawn
In their turn and begin their circular
Daily patterns around their young, as did
We in our day, though now the circles grow
More languid, as the time our ripples must
Quiet at last to calm draws closer still.
Motionless now buried in the stream-bed
Murky dark, feel the commotion of schools
Gliding against the rippling surface light
While in silence we touch our fins and smile
At all the generations passing there.
More by this Author
The Bop is a fun form. Poets should try it!
How to use rhythm to make your poetry flow musically.
The theory and practice of door closer adjustment, with steps and detailed instructions to adjust the swing of your hydraulic door closer.