My old box of filthy water
is giving up its last gold baby.
I remember
the schools of bright thoughts,
gaudy sequins, a galaxy
of childhood reflections, the days
when the fresh currents gurgled--
the cataracts of Iguacu!
Much later to be bottled up
in this small capsule,
this artificial Amazon...
my bubbling, closed ocean.
A drowned wreck, a cracked castle,
a chest spilling jewels: old toys.
The fish stops and rises.
The water clouds and stills.
I freeze and stare at that deathly eye--
ink hole, doom pivot, whirl of the abyss.
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