The Idea is the Fleeting Ghostly Fish

that's lit up in the world of fathoms-deep;
announcing its arrival with a swish
that makes the waters murmur in their sleep.
There always blooms that steady stream of snow
like plankton fallout in the sea of brain,
from which you snitch a thought not yes not no;
but Something from the world's incessant rain.
The ghostly fish that's lit up from within —
and bright enough to catch our eye that sweeps
the depths, or reaches, or the narrow place —
its luminescence gets beneath your skin,
and cheers you when it finds your tearstained face.
And if you mimic it or rise to match its pace,
then you become the company it keeps.

Copyright © 2007 Kate Light All rights reserved
from Measure
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission