Why I wept I did not know,
or why my tears were freezing as they fell,
as I became a fish again,
swimming through the womb of time,
assaulting an injudicious past
against the barriers of rhyme.
I hear the sounding bells toll time beneath the water,
where the valley settles long years,
and queer birds swim
among the blemished rocks.
Sometimes, when I am tired of playing with fish babies,
I make love with humans,
rocking on the surface waves,
the juices spill light year seasons down hill, greening
where the wind
is blowing sandy moonlight over dunes.
When morning comes, implacable pale dawn,
imperiled love is gone,
drowned again within the sound of time,
wavering
beneath the salty water,
where the sea is Pleistocene.
Coral shapes below are green,
the waters
cool within,
idea of the fin,
but fish itself is sin, and
carnal breast is algae green;
the sea is frozen Pleistocene.
Then I heard it said
that mermaids weep
because they have no souls.
© 2010 Charlotte Merrill Jensen
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