We milled about the dripping alleys
     filtering the air in our throats a certain way. 

     If he speaks English he's in
     the most jewel-like said.

     We flapped our gills forever but couldn't rend
     memory from body, too young and scarily young

     to think of the vestigial always on deck–
     a parallel entity, wired into every tic

     of our rising/falling fortunes.
     And always the old complaint:

     where does this leave you and me?
     Where does this leave me besides mired

     piles of water reminding us we were all
     a little sentimental, even then.

     The homes were generous, all awake, despite
     a formidable suffering, then.