Individual Voices / Natural Forms

Winter, 2006

Louise Nayer


My blue fish
spawned a baby
in my dreams.
It was beautiful,
among the quartz. 
And how I longed
for perfection,
its gills
to be the opening
song of night. 

One dead fish later
and your hands
aging, scarred,
on a white formica table 

we all admit failure,
the accidents
we could not stop.