Chasing Fish

Dive in, take the plunge, brave the cold
Of this land that isn't land.
Feel the foreign forests of wet weeds and living rocks
That is no home to man.

Those who do make a home there
Span the colors of the rainbow
The big box of crayons, a Vegas Strip night
and some that I don't even know.

After a while, the water's a boon.
It scatters the sun's burning light.
The sun's complete absence, in the form of my shadow,
Puts my colored companions to flight

And what a subaquarian flight it is,
To watch them go, and move on,
Like scattering a madman's coloring book,
Winds blowing pages out of reach but not gone,

But the wise know not to waste time chasing one
When they're among so many.
Not to break from pursuit of one single fish
Is a close thing to not seeing any.

'Tis the game we poets always play,
To chase what can't be caught.
If the journeys and the sights we grasp,
It's far from all for naught.