I watch, removed
blinking detachedly as they swim
in lazy, mesmerizing loops before me.

Cerulean water like
blue ice, scarlet and orange fish
move like a flower opens.

Are they in no hurry, or
have they simply lost the desire
to go more quickly?

I look deep into their eyes
and am met with
a dead wall. Perhaps it wasn’t

always that way. Maybe once
the pearly eyes
were diamonds on black.

One struggles through a stagnant
clump of plastic sea grass, doesn’t
bother to go around. I bite my lip and

wince ever so slightly
in the velvet darkness surrounding
the bright tank. I am alone

in the room, hypnotized
by the slow-motion scene before me.
How can life hold such little

enthusiasm? They swim ‘round and
‘round, follow the same path over and
over, looking for a new route but

all have been traveled so many
times. A sleek vermillion head floats
softly towards the glass and bumps

into its own reflection. It moves forward
again with equal success; but it knows,
it knows all too deeply that

its world ends at the glass. I have to wonder
how far my own glass reaches.