Salamander

going home, or moving 

between all of the ponds

which have nourished your

spirit but remained isolated. 

You crawl on your belly

through the mud to find 

a new pond to meet new 

fish friends and fish food. 

You tell them about your

other ponds and friends. 

You use discrepancies as 

currency for fish food. 

But you're not a fish,

you're a salamander and 

before long you don't know

if you're a real fish-friend or fishmonger. 

You crawl on your belly 

back to one pond and another. 

You go home and tell your 

home fish about water temperatures

and acidity and mercury and fish food. 

But you're not a fish, you're a salamander. 

You go home every time you drag

your belly across the mud with fierce

conviction that the ponds are related some how. 

And it all seems rather pointless but

you love fish, and love the ponds that you 

crawl between on your belly, 

gently pushing mud to the side, 

You love that small trickle of water 

that follows you from pond to pond, 

You dream of that small trickle 

turning into a tapestry of streams.