I have two sharks inside me
swimming in tandem and holding my heart
between them like a little family
walking in the dark.

I send them gulps of air from outside
as if I were some sort of oxygenated charity
with a face and feet, operating in the world
on their behalf like a proxy or prosthetic.

Oh fishies, confined and angry in the bowl of my ribs,
here come those old blues again.
Why does life go on so long, demand so much,
slowly dribbling out the cracked glass of years?

I have had ideas all along, fine ideas
to open a ministry in a dumpster,
a ballroom in an attic, a cemetery
on a space station with the whole Earth for Ouija board.

I'm scared, fishies. Will the moon call you
and will you answer her tidal madrigal?
Will she require three voices, you and my heart?
Will you rise in glory, leaving me hollow, in salt and sorrow?