If the air was thick for fingers to run through,
The sun a yellow ripple in the tide
Then could a fish wander above,
Darting in and out of alleys,
Making coral homes of traffic cones?
Was there a fist that could not swim
But flay out fins for feet
And gasp of the lesser blue bodies,
Assail her gill-less swelling lungs?
Was there a fish who would not swim?