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In my next life I want to be born as a cave fish,
evolution dictating that I have milky skin
and blind eyes,

but mostly I just want the obsolete eyes.

I could swim all day in pools
illuminated by the star strokes rippling
from my fins,
I could create the world inside me,
craft it out of the dusk songs of
lapping water and stalactites
and bats’ cries and
other fish;
and never be contradicted because
I can’t see the evidence to the contrary.

I’ll learn how to sing those songs for you,
the notes tart bouquets of shadows
and the lyrics obscure dust and grime
that covers everything in primordial kisses,
as long as you listen.