Fish Eyes

If wishes were fishes
they'd swim away,
recede to depths of hope
like wishes do every day,

whole schools of them
unlearned, yearning dreams
that might come true,
propelled through sea or sky
the blue, the fertile green,
or earthy brown of eye,
unfurled against the tides
of life and time.

There is no reason here.
Even rhyme swims blind
escaping head or tail
of tangled lines.
Not even poetry
makes wishes heard,
and stars are distant.

Night is cold.
Someday

when you are old
and gray, sit by the fire,
take down a book and read
the lessons in the ashes
at the grate. Berate yourself
or hail the crowd of stars,
but look to life.

Don't wait for wishes
to be swallowed whole
by bigger fishy wishes
that splash through
your finny wavy fingers,
toss and swim away.