I saw a salmon once, like an empty sock
Its procreative powers leeched away
Senile, rheumy eyed, a near-dead thing
Lolling in water, too far gone for motion
I roll around in the weightless womb of the pool
Wings of skin, like grey fins hang from my arms
My body turns belly up and I stare at the ceiling,
Its tiny lights like pin pricks, needling away the dark