Transmutation

A fish bellows into a pond she is 

a man. Two men enter, pucker their lips 

but don’t kiss. Water drinks rain. 

Your sobs are windchimes in a rainforest. 

I adore mirrors or anything that reflects. 

I reflect on the sunfish balling its fins

into fists. The two men finally

kiss. The pond misses wetness

and motion, cancels reflections. 

I find myself in the glass beads

on your wrist. Your fingers pinch

a fig. Love wells like a cyst,

a kernel of fruit. All objects transmute. 

You eat all the soft spots, yeast, rind

juice, mould. I eat your frozen tears

like a fish. The rainforest becomes

an interspecies romance bestseller 

but the critics call it a literary miss.