Beneath the once-turquoise pebbles
are the other pebbles,
more real and as much a part of the
aquarium as water should be.
A stalk of dry bamboo leans against
a large rock
and the transparent wall.
I look into my own eyes
and through them.
I blink and see them swimming.
Kermit
and Miss Piggy
I've named them,
their webbed feet paddling
in what I can only assume
is content.
The consensus between us is reached:
I feed and they teach
me how to be ambivalent.
Just two, just two.
My palm rests above the lid,
fingers gripping the top,
clutching their see-through home
in the clasp that usually feeds them.
They gasp and scurry in the water
as much as you can scurry or gasp in water,
and are as confused
as you can be confused in water -
confusing
water.
I blink,
and my own eyes stare through themselves again.
Turquoise fades to grey,
and dust coats the lid
that covers only rocks
and a desiccated bamboo stalk.
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