Do fish ask themselves:
"What is this I'm breathing"
Of which are they more aware:
Their barriers, creek bed and river bank;
or their freedom that these boundaries contain?
When I was a child I couldn't imagine that air is "something".
I can look through it,
walk through it;
you can't hold it in your fingers:
How can air be "something"?
Words are like air.
They sit upon it.
They are like water.
From the day of birth
the flow like water all around,
ubiquitous,
almost imperceptible by their abundance.
I'm like a bass who sleeps in a deep cool pool,
barely aware
(except for an occasional eddy, or some
rapid unexpected)
of the depth,
or course
of that which is all around me.
Honorable mention
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