Fish Ladder

Like a snake 
it moves. 
My poem. 

You are not, what you were 
in the night, lightning 
the grey moon. 

I hear, what you 
did not say or did― 
not think. 

Even dark 
forebodings, move like red 
ants, from the slit eyes. 

I cover the faults 
via songbird, which 
was calling, desperately, 
unwaitingly.