I am a body schooling,
a ball of fish, flashing
and many, in these early days
of feeling, of love.
When I learned,
hours ago, of fish songs
that swell like birdsong
in the morning,
how they foghorn or buzz
for food, or mates
or space, I thought,
now aren’t I a humming thing?
Yes, you say,
a body of oceans
and marvelous.
And the sea anemone in me,
growing on the wreckage
of an old ship—
can they grow that way,
I wonder, on an ending—