or nights, the sun won't set,
it's shining bright up there
above them, so they swim
and play and fight and wonder
if the flakes will suddenly
appear the way they do most
every day or not. Sometimes
it gets forgotten by the blurry
figures out there in the blurry
world that boggles fishes' minds
because it's dry, devoid of water
from the looks of it. And then,
a blurry hand, so big that it could
hold all of the fish at once,
just hovers near the sun and
touches it, and there is darkness.
Sleep is welcome, but their worry
keeps them on alert, if only in
their dreams. What if those hours
of only light are followed now
by endless night?
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2016
